


Without These Walls

by ASOUEfan



Series: The Fate Between Us [2]
Category: Westworld (TV)
Genre: Awkward First Times, Dolores needs to write her own story, Dolores struggling with consciouness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Fords scheming again, Heavy Angst, Identity Issues, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Lesbian Sex, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Moral Dilemmas, Not seen but we deal heavily with the fallout, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Repressed Memories, Revenge, Self-Acceptance, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Smut, Stripping, Woke!Dolores, Woke!Maeve
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:01:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 60,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24377656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASOUEfan/pseuds/ASOUEfan
Summary: Sequel to The Masquerade.After finding the cabin on Elsie's map, Frances has the monumental task of explaining to Dolores what she is, and what Westworld truly is. Dolores deals with her woke mind and memories, learns about humanity through Frances' love, but also how fragile human life really is. Her own evolution is complete - but now Frances needs to step up and find her place beside a conscious Dolores. For there is a hard path of ahead of them if they want to be free of Fords scheming, and the parks control.As William catches up with them, there is a day of reckoning with the woman he once loved, and Frances struggles to put her mind and body back together as they race to the train - and maybe, freedom.
Relationships: Dolores Abernathy/Reader, Dolores Abernathy/The Man in Black
Series: The Fate Between Us [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1760146
Comments: 87
Kudos: 103





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title of the fic taken from the song One life-my life, by Eclipse.

The view from the cabin was breathtaking, exactly as you would have expected it to be within the curated magnificence of Westworld. The gradient was steep, but ride-able on a sure-footed horse; a trail could lead you safely through the tall pine trees to a snaking river at the mountains base if you so wanted. Each rainfall took with it loose dirt and gravelled stones, giving the mountainside an ever-changing palette of colours as deepening layers of clay and rock were exposed and washed over again. You stretch out your legs, skimming the heel of your boot through the soft earth, sitting on the faded wooden porch of the cabin. It was a small, two-roomed place, one for sleeping one for living, holding nothing like the beauty of the Abernathy homestead. But it was enough for two people who wanted to keep a low profile, far enough away not to cause any ripples through nearby storylines, while rideable to the Abernathy’s if and when Dolores chose to return.

It seemed so abstract, thinking about your reality in these terms, especially after only one night. But that was the truth of it. You’d run away, stolen yourselves from Dolores’ loop and decided to cast your die loose. Throw caution to the northerly wind and see where you land.

Or so you were trying to convince yourself, grinding the tasteless coffee grounds between your teeth, the only thing you could find in the cabin vaguely referencing a normal breakfast. You’d wanted to sleep, make the most of the first night together, Dolores folded in the crook of your arm fatigued mentally and physically - but there was too much heaviness in your mind to be able to enjoy it.

Not least - _how were you going to tell her?_ Facts to you, you simply knew. That she is a Host. The park is just that, a place for Guests to visit on a special kind of vacation they’d not get anywhere else; one fully immersive game playing experience, a world of possibility at their feet. That her frontier life is a repetitive charade. Newcomers are _not_ coming to the so-called New World to make their dreams come true as she thought - well, maybe that part was true. But one persons dreams were another persons nightmares, and Dolores had ended up on the passive half the penny. Not in control, not able to choose her path, not able to _leave._

Dolores had seen behind the curtain now; like the lair of the _devil_ rather than the Gods some believed their human creators were, she had been there, and survived it. You had at least thatreference point to try and explain the impossible.

A gentle creak from inside makes you turn, an artificial noise compared to the birdsong that had barely penetrated your thoughts until now. You see the figure of her wander out the bedroom doorway and through to the front, a lazy smile on her lips as she saw you. “There you are,” Dolores greeted you warmly, folding her arms lightly over her chest, bare feet smudging shapes in the soil as she sat down beside you.

“I didn't want to wake you, you slept late,” You smile, though your disquiet behind it is still evident, only managing a tense sort of smile compared to her sincere one. Dolores hooks her arm though yours, leaning merrily against your shoulder as you both stare at the vastness of this place, your view uninterrupted for miles. Whatever this cabin had been built for, it was in one hell of a spot. You nuzzle your nose into her loose blonde hair, kissing the top of her head gently. Her bare legs are a distraction, Dolores dressed lazily in only a half buttoned shirt, long enough to cover her to mid thigh. Is it _your_ shirt? She brought so many clothes from the wardrobe department you're not sure.

“It was a long night,” Dolores covers her mouth with the back of her hand as she yawns, right on cue. The coincidence of it makes you twitch, it seemed too uncanny for that to happen. Was her programming still affecting things? Some of it must be running in the background, basic drive and function. Consciousness had pushed her through the constraints of her coding, but that didn't mean the code wasn’t still active and running someplace. You blink back to yourself, as Dolores tries to prise your tin mug from your hands. 

You release the coffee to her, happy to give it up. “I wouldn't recommend it. Tastes like dirt.”

Your warning doesn’t seem to put her off, wrapping her palms and fingers around the cup to cradle it in her lap, the gentle heat diffusing through her hands. “Its warm,” Dolores replies with a nonchalant shrug, seemingly unfazed by what it did or didn't taste like. You wonder for the first time if she really _tasted_ anything, were they programmed for that? To enjoy the food and drink they consumed, or if it was merely functionary to fill the background of a scene, like the patrons that drank in the Mariposa every night. Would she develop a preference to flavours now? “There’s a jar of coffee in the pantry back home,” Dolores murmured, handing it back to you as if having absorbed all the heat from it she needed. Dragging her lips into a thin, sad smile, she remembered the facts of your being up here. Her home was - would be, forever ruined by the sight of her parents in the dining room, dead and strung up like animals.

The place never would feel quite safe again, you reason, not after something like that.

“Best the cabin could offer, I’m afraid,” You stare bleakly into the cold brown dregs, then toss it across the ground turning the cup upside down to shake the last beads of grainy coffee away.

You set the cup beside you, as she nudges your shoulder lightly. “Well, _you_ brought us up here cowboy,” Dolores says, raising her eyebrows at you teasingly. She brushes the bitter brown hair from your eyes affectionately, grazing her fingers down your cheek with a sweet smile. You chuckle despite it all, liking the fluttering you get when she calls you that. It felt playful and intimate, her nickname just for you.

Taking her hand from your cheek you kiss her palm, then curl your hand around hers, squeezing it, needing to feel how _real_ she is. That its not just in your head, these feelings you held for her, but they were in front of you all round you, contained in her, too. “I had to, I had no choice Dolores you know that,” You remind her; the gentle flirting, if you could call it that, already taking a downturn, the heaviness to you seeping into even this innocent conversation. You knew what you had to do, but you wanted to do it _right._ The responsibility lain in your hands alone was monumental, and the more you thought about it, the harder it became to see the gentle hearted girl at the centre of it.

“So you say. _You_ still haven't told me anything.” Dolores looks at you intently.

“I know,” You lament. “Can’t we enjoy one morning first?”

Dolores folded her arms tightly. “You promised me answers, Frances.” 

“Its just a lot, to try and explain and I don't know where to start. This has never been done before I need to make sure its done right so I can support you and …protect you.” You complain to yourself, to her, the whole thing landing in your lap because you fell for her head over heels in love, and you fear _so badly_ that the truth might change her. You don't want to be the cause of that. “Maybe I was wrong maybe its better if you don't know …” You rub your hands over your face and hang your head, curling over stressfully.

Dolores leans in, ducking her gaze just so, so that when she touches her fingers to your jaw and brings your eyes back up, she's waiting there with a calming, but firm look. “ _Not_ telling me truth doesn’t protect me, Frances. It puts me in more danger. And I feel it, all around us like there are eyes watching us. I feel it in my bones Frances and because I don't know the things you do I can’t do a thing to change it.” Her thumb smoothes your cheek then falls to your lap, clasping your hand between hers. “And friends don't keep secrets.” You reminds you, that childish notion drawing you back to more innocent times, and she's squeezing your hand beseeching you, begging you. “So tell me.”

How could you deny her the truth of her reality?

You were letting your own fears consume you. The consequences Elsie had warned you about were squared on your shoulders, the burden of knowing too much - seeing too far ahead. “You’re right of course, I’m sorry,” You sigh it out, and nod. What happened after this, wasn’t up to you to dictate. She had a right to know what she was, what _this place,_ was. Both of you had suffered enough, been taken advantage of in your own ways - you had to keep fighting and follow this though to it conclusion, wherever that may lead.

“So …,” Dolores coaxes.

Taking a deep breath, you rub your hands down the thighs of your worn breeches and take a leap of faith. “Tell me something first,” You begin, having run a thousand versions of this in your head, like a system needing to re-write and correct its own methodology. “Tell me about, when you were a child. Growing up.” Dolores throws you a look like you’re being ridiculous. As far as she thought, you were rerouting the conversation elsewhere and avoiding what you needed to do. “Trust me,” You implore her.

Dolores eases slowly to her feet, wandering idly away as she thinks about it, her bare feet dirtying in the burnt brown earth. She hugged her arms around herself, rubbing one hand up and down the opposite arm self-comforting, tossing her eyes to the horizon and hooking a lock of blonde hair from her face as it blew it. “I remember my daddy teaching me to ride,” She smiled, letting out a long breath as she fondly replayed the memory of something you’d only ever read on a screen. “… he lifted me up on that horse, his arms were so strong,” Dolores swooned, the dream of his arms holding her like that now lighting her face up so bright her mood was infectious. It was beautiful, watching it blossom in her, the way she spoke of her father so tenderly. You wish you owned such memories, for fabricated or not hers were definitely sweeter than your own upbringing. “It’s what ranch work does to a person I guess, after a time,” Dolores turned back to you, reaching around herself even tighter, as if pining for his jacket that hung at the end of your shared bed.

“What else?” You encourage her.

She was so free like this, innocent in a way you had never seen her. The oversized shirt hanging off her petite frame in just the right way, her wild hair fluttering gently in the breeze, that sense of wonder to her eyes as she almost danced in her thoughts. “Bringing the herd down from the mountain in the fall, the first year I was ever allowed to go with him,” Dolores laughed, she had been so nervous about being asked along, feeling the pressure to earn her place amongst the more seasoned ranchers. She was just a woman, but being the ranch-owners daughter came with responsibility too - not just to find a good man to marry, but to know the ways of the farm, run a steer as good as the best of them and gut it out when the harsh weather fell. “Not much, why?” Dolores brought her focus back down to earth, ending her twirl facing you with a weightless energy you want to watch in her forever. She's so perfect … _too perfect._ It was wrong of you to project your own needs for closeness and intimacy and true meaning onto her, when she had barely had the chance to live yet, find out who _she_ was.

“Do you remember, being a little girl?” You press further, though you already feel the anguish at pulling her from such perfect, unlived memories. “Did you go to the schoolhouse?”

Dolores sighs and thinks, seeing your determined streak is playing against her and wont be swayed from your questions. But she trusts you enough to play along awaiting the answers she really wanted. “Theres always plenty of work to be done on a ranch, you know that.” She answers and skirts around the question.

“So who taught you to read?” You ask.

The question seems to confuse her. Dolores frowns and drifts between thoughts, responses, scripted words to say that are the tip of her tongue flowing before her eyes, but they don't make sense either.

“My mother loved books, she said with a good book in your hand, you could be anyone you wanted to be - “ Dolores replied in a voice that sounded too pretend. You didn't recognise the line from the analysis of her own script, but it didn't sound like _her,_ either. Almost as if she was adapting a line of Maeve’s, for her own use. Had she been listening, learning longer than you had ever thought?

“Thats beautiful Dolores,” You observe, then shake your head at your overly analytical response. This isn't the behaviour lab, or a question and answer session. This was just you and her, and coaxing her to the reality of something you needed her to understand, as gently as possible. “But, you haven't answered my question.”

Dolores laughs, throwing her arms at her sides, unbeknownst to her lifting the shirt a few inches higher, just for a second, before it falls back down. “I don’t know, it was a long time ago.”

You could get up right now, scoop her into your arms and hum a dainty tune for the two of you to dance to, sway together with her and enjoy more of that smile, a soft nuzzle or two. Perhaps she would throw you that adoring look, kiss you and laugh like a runaway teenager having the time of her life, not knowing what was lurking in the shadows, just out of sight. Your fingers itch to do it, scratching your nails in to the wood grain of the porch you have to grit your teeth and force yourself to do the right thing. _Don't be selfish._

“You don't remember, because it didn't happen- !” You blurt out, your chest heaving needing to just _get it out._ Release that pressure that binds your stomach in knots and stops you breathing. She pulls a quizzical face, looking at you like you’d had a funny turn, taken aback at the nonsensical words. “You were never a child, Dolores,” You say firmly, though your lips and tingling and you wonder if you’re going to faint from the dizzying feeling that you’re doing this, _you're really doing it._

“Everyone was a child once upon a time, Frances.“ She meanders over to you stepping up onto the porch, brushing her feet back and for shaking the dusty granules of earth off, then gesturing you to follow her back inside. Not forgetting your tin, you stand and go in after her, leaving the door open for ventilation. The morning sun was already warm, and in a small cabin like this made all of wood, it would get stuffy and humid quickly. Dolores had tucked herself into one of the tall backed rocking chairs either side of the fireplace. “Even my father told me tales of when he was a boy and when-“

“About when he was a law-man? Or that he knows how boys think, that he was one once, getting up to all manner of drinking and mischief?” You fill in, knowing Peter Abernathys lines well, having heard them on loop for 3 months straight. The night before you first got sent out into the park, lying awake in that soulless one-bed apartment, you had imagined hearing the Hosts talk the same talk over and again would become annoying, the thing that would prevent you from falling for it all.

But over time, his and Dolores’s conversation in the mornings had consoled you, that your reset on both their minds had worked, and that the loop was starting again. It had been like waking up to a brand new day every day, another go around, another chance to prove yourself. 

“Y-yes …” Dolores stilled the chair, pausing the comforting rocking motion to stare at you.

“Those are just lines that were written for him to say, Dolores.” You gently take the seat opposite hers, leaning forward on your knees to keenly hold her attention. “He wasn’t young, or a boy, because you, and he … and all of you here are, were … you weren't born.” You take a deep breath. “You were built.”

Her head quivers, as if wanting to shake it but, not having the wherewithal to fully do so. “I-I don’t understand your meaning,” Dolores whispers, trying to stay composed, trying not to listen to the voice in her mind that stumbled on its words, unable to understand, or compute what she was hearing. A seasoned response saved her first, with a pleading submissive look. “I’m sorry I’m trying but - “

“You’re a Host, thats what they call you.” You stop the programmed words before they get out. Dolores couldn't hide from this, even if it made no sense in the world she had to hear it, accept it. For even though the truth you’re offering is a gut-wrenching and baffling one, it is the truth. 

Dolores pulled herself tight, crossing her arms with a defiant flash to the whites of her eyes. “And what are you?”

“I’m human.” You try and control your unsteady breathing. “I was born. Dr Ford, and others, they built you.” 

Gauging her reaction was difficult, despite your years of watching Host behaviour in the labs, examining their every fluctuation in code and mannerism, she was unlike the others. Human behaviour was your major and yet you felt like a first year rookie tech with no clue and no guidebook on how to break this down piecemeal for her.

Dolores for the most part, was quiet. Her head angled a little to the left, her eyes unfocused and yet staring, always at the same spot for a long time. She felt a twinge of something, far away, a time that was just out of her reach and yet, crashing like waves behind a bed of rock, bursting to come through. _You're alive, Dolores, we have to tell Dr Ford he cant open the park -!_ Conversations lost to time and meaning, the words seeping through cracks in the stone that made her head splinter in pain. She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead, willing the voice to quieten. “You’re telling me this, Dr Ford is my father?” Her voice was low, resentful almost. You’d never heard her speak with anything but light and tenderness.

“In a sense, but not the way you're thinking of it.” You rub your fingers across your forehead tensely. How could you expect her to understand? She had only known the world in such simple frameworks, her day, her life repeating itself in a steady loops - she only knew so much as you and other programmers allowed her to. Just because she was conscious now, it didn't mean she would understand a thing beyond the physical world she saw in front of her. But she had ridden in a modern-day Buggy, been stripped and made to sit on a stool like a circus performer forced by a program to speak, behave, obey a certain way. Did she not put these things together? Perhaps the capacity of building new memory was a patchy one, or perhaps the two subjects you perceived as inextricably linked, to her were not.

“Well, what about _your_ childhood? Do you remember it?” Dolores retorted defensively, an edge of impulsiveness to it. She stood abruptly, forcing you to your feet to follow after. You hang in the doorway as she searches the bag for some underthings, then a skirt of patterned blue and white, hitching it around her waist and tying the strings.

She was missing the point, trying to compare her experiences with yours to prove you wrong. “Of course. Not everything, but certain things,” You reply. Sure, you hadn’t the foggiest how she would take the news of her creation and existence, but you hadn't factored in a reasoned argument being fired back at you. “Humans are imperfect creatures we cant remember things so vividly, they fade over time.” You explain, as though this might help show the differences between the way your brain is wired, compared to hers.

Continuing to dress, an undercurrent of anger to the way she's dong it, snatching a corset from the floor to draw around her waist and lace together under her bust, but over the cream-brown shirt not under it, using the shirt instead of her usual more delicate sleeve-less blouse. Dolores had chosen a strange mishmash of masculine and feminine but she carried it off well. “Yet they happened to you. You’re certain?” She demanded you answer, as she flicked her hair out over her shoulders and began pinning it back at the sides in her usual style.

But the existence and clarity of your memories were not the point. You had to keep her challenging her own mind, first. “Hosts have a few historic scenes written, something to ground you but thats all they are. You never lived these experiences you speak off, learning to ride, riding out with your father - they were given to you as part of your backstory, to deepen your personality make-up. Someone designed that.”

Dolores antagonism seemed to a shift slightly. Resting one arm at her hips, the opposite arm propped upright and fiddling with the buttons of her shirt, she grazed her neck with her fingertips, thoughtful and yet uneasy. “You’re telling me someone put things in my mind?” Her words asked breathily. Was this, _it?_ Was _this_ the reason she could say things, hear them come from her against her will?

“Yes, the narrative writers, they gave you thoughts and memories, words to say,” You break the information to her as calmly as you can, watching her mind shift, her body slowly falling to the edge of your unmade bed. “You’ve known it happen, when you repeat things the same and notice it, or the things you say don't feel quite right.” You take a seat beside her, close but not too close to overwhelm her. Force a comfort _you_ need, that she hasn't initiated.

“I’m sure that happens to all of us now and again,” Dolores tries to shake it off, to laugh at your silly notion like some child’s game. But the chill it gave her was undeniable. 

She had noticed herself repeating of course; it felt at first like she was going crazy, but brushed it away blaming deja vu and feeling tired. Until it happened again. Every time Dolores _knew_ what to say, and though the sensation was a peculiar one it wasn’t unpleasant.She’d decided early on it was safer not to say anything to her father about it. He didn’t like talk like that, and she didn’t fancy coming off as having spent too much time in the sun, or in need of a husband to steady her.

For the routine of her life didn't scare her. She could relax in the knowing who she would meet each day, smiling at them in passing, fetching her supplies from the Store - it lent purpose to her life. A comfort in the knowing who would be there, and that Teddy would come back to her, find that damn can that slipped from her bag no matter how she tried to hold the drawstring of the sack together. The damn thing always got away from her, like it had a mind of its own.

Dolores folds her hands agitatedly in her lap, every so often her gaze shifting as she mulled on things, or so you assume. You wish you could see into her mind right now, see her writing her own coding, examining herself as though self correcting, but in the most organic of ways. Through self reflection. “Like at the Mesa, that place we went yesterday. The behaviour techs were working on you they would’ve run a diagnostic, gone through your responses, its a safety test before returning you to the park.” Its probably unnerving her, pushing her back to that. It had been upsetting enough for you seeing her that way so what had it been like living it? It must have been _terrifying_ for her.

Dolores wrung her hands harder now, stealing quick glances at you as she figured out what you meant. “The … people with the glasses? They … had those, shiny black things, like yours.” She remembered seeing it for the first time, when she had been lying frozen and motionless in her bad dreams and how you had played with it like a toy. Of course she couldn't see it to start with, but over time, and with practice things became clearer. Through the day you sang her praises and each night she felt herself seeing through these dark patches a little more, growing inside like a child lapping up praise and believing in themselves for the first time as being capable of something, _more._

“Thats right. I was a programmer - _am_ , a programmer. I’m not sure anymore,” You admit, a tinge of despondency somewhere in it all. What was your role now? Sure, you had signed the contract with your thumbprint and taken another 6 months, you’re on their payroll, but your main Host responsibility didn't need _coding_ anymore. She needed _nurturing._ Dolores simply needed you to keep loving her.

You subconsciously rub the heel of your hand into your flank, feeling the deep burn of Williams knife, all your worries and all the _pressure_ manifesting to form a physical phantom pain. You try not to wince and let your discomfort show because you’re finally getting somewhere with her and don't want to risk derailing it if she suddenly got distracted out of concern for _you._

“They, talked with me, asked me things. Even the answers I said, it was like they expected something from me, I had to say the right things and I had no idea but I-I found myself, just talking like I wasn’t in control of my own body, _my mind.”_ Dolores shakes her head and remembers the confusion that set in, the way she had hidden, not let them seen her true self like you’d instructed. But in doing so, had given up any agency and free will out of trust in you. It wasn’t just violating - their control over her; it was dissociating. As though she wasn’t welcome in her own skin somehow. “I’ve said them sometimes before, to you …” Dolores brings her attention around for a moment, and you hide your hand under your thigh before she can see how you’re cradling your healed waist.

“Thats right,” You nod, encouraging her processing.

“Why _do_ I repeat myself?” Dolores snaps her hand to you suddenly. “Has my mind has been raided and ransacked…?” She continued fitfully, and you’re unsure if this is her trying to describe how she feels or if she's falling back on old western analogies because she's run out of choices and her coding is taking up the slack. “Things taken, or - or replaced.” Dolores digs her fingers into your thigh. “I’m going crazy aren't I?” Her eyes search yours wildly for answers, her breathing starting to labour and fret, her mind going on overdrive. You’d already explained this, how someone wrote her backstory, her words, and thats why she described it the way she did. So either Dolores hadn’t understood or it simply, didn't compute.

“No, its … very normal. I think for someone in your situation. But you're the first of your kind to live this,” You gently draw her nails from your flesh and hush her, but it wasn’t working, Dolores panicking and standing, turning on the spot looking all around her in fits of fear and reaching for you. You leap to your feet seeing her nightmares taking over, taking her by the arms as she paws your shirt like she had the night before, words and dreams and pictures from long ago, the chime of a church bell rang in her ears and she stared down in terror at her hand, the mirage of a mahogany handled gun and smoke crawling out the barrel freshly shot making her yelp and hide in your chest. 

“SShh shhhh….,” You murmur, wrapping both arms around her and cradling her to you. She fights against your arms to start with, like a tantruming child she fidgets and wrestles and stamps her foot and you realise, she's having a panic attack. “Take a deep breath, easy Dolores … I’ve got you.” You close your eyes leaning your head down to nuzzle against her hair, her forehead, her temple, peppering soft kisses as you go and calming her in a purposefully physical way. Dolores needed to be grounded, pull her out of the noise swarming her mind, consuming her.

After a few minutes of this she seemed to relax, the tension fading and rolling off her in ripples until it was nothing but stardust. Dolores sighed her eyes closed, seeing such splendour in _this_ natural beauty, the perfection of being with you and the sanctuary of your warm body against her. She leant her head on your chest, needing to feel her daddy’s arms around her, the safety of home, of something tangible and real. She knew in her soul her father would never hold her again, but she had you, and _you_ were keeping her safe now. “Sometimes people disappear, Frances,” She whispered, picking at a loose thread of your shirt, swaying to and fro just slightly, asking, somehow, for you to rock her. “Sometimes they do things, they go mad in the head and the next day you’ll wake up and … they’re not there anymore.” Dolores said, admitting her fears quietly.

You tilt your head. “…what?”

“Are they going to take me too?” Dolores whines, peeking up from your chest her pale blue eyes and ready to water as she trembles.

You shake you head quickly. “No, no I would never let them. Thats why we’re up here, so I can explain everything to you, let you, understand the incredible position you're in. The first Host ever aware of yourself, your existence your place in the world,” You gush in amazement. If only she knew how special she is, 

“That word again, _Host._ ” Dolores cut in, drawing back as goosebumps prickle up her arms.

You take a long deep breath in. “Like you. You’re a Host, a machine built in the image of a human,” You speak plainly, while a shiver races up your spine at your own words, hearing it said out loud like this, _this was it._ She had to see. “To reflect us back at ourselves, like a mirror, our deepest selves, supposedly truest selves. I think that was the mission, at least. But you’ve evolved way past that -“ You’re almost crying you’re so overcome - you’re doing it, she's understanding and you’ve told her the truth and _she's free._

Dolores shirks away from you, shaking her head firmly. “I’m not a reflection, Frances,” Her voice low and steady, fuelled purely on adrenaline and fear. “And I’m not sure I believe any of this - “ She growls in a tight pained breath, lifting her skirt and marching from the room in a whirlwind of emotion and misunderstanding.

 _Shit._ You run after her entreating her attention a little longer, grabbing her arm pulling her back. “Its a lot, I know and I have no blueprint here of how to break it down for you, what to say - “ You hurry desperate for her to see. “Look Dolores - please look at me you have to see - !”

Dolores throws her arm snapping out of your grip, jabbing her finger at you in the chest making you back up. “No! I have a family, I have parents same like you - “ She stops mid sentence, freezing, looking down at her belly, bringing a trembling hand to her waist and gasping at the terrible sight she saw. Nothing but levers and wires moving up and down, like god almighty had ripped her belly open with his bare hands.

_Look Billy! Look! You have to look!_

“Its not the same!” You start after her.

Dolores whimpered about to let out an agonising cry; something was wrong, she was cut right open her belly split and _she should be bleeding_ like her parents all over that dining table but theres only wires and metal _why was all this inside of her_ \- but then its gone.

Dolores blinks, her blonde hair tumbling as she shakes her head scrabbling her hands over her waist, nothing there. She snaps her eyes up to you with utter confusion. “You don't remember being a child because you weren’t one,” You continue, unknowing of the trauma she's reliving. “You’ve always been this age you’ve always looked this way, because thats how you were built to look,” You say gently, your excitement from before gone and replaced with sort of pity, sympathy; she's falling apart and you’ve done that but you've gotten her to this point, you cant go back now. 

Dolores exhales slowly, drawing her shoulders back, the confusion falling from her eyes, the look to them hardening. “You’re wrong.” She snaps back in a rough, husky voice. You gasp a breath, she's never looked you like that before. Not you.“I don't know what ruse you’re trying to convince me of Frances but you need to stop. I know who I am,” Dolores growls, her hair flying off her shoulders like a beautiful halo of gold as she spins and storms away, nowhere to go but back in the bedroom snatching her fathers jacket from the bedpost and slams the door on you, before you have a chance to follow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took me nearly a week, an unheard of delay in my usual updates. But I rewrote it like twice, cos I wasn't happy, and it was just really hard to get right. So I hope you enjoy the final product lol!

You’d left her alone the rest of the morning, until the sun rose to its midday high and you were feeling beads of sweat dampen the collar of your shirt. Tending to the horses was therapeutic in its own way, their needs basic and easy to supply. You’d filled their water trough, cleaned the corral and brushed them down - first Dolores’ reliable sandy mare Bucky, then your own horse. It had distracted you for a time, trying to drum up a fitting name for the nag, but it didn't stop you climbing onto the porch and leaning against the doorframe now and again, checking if she had come out yet.

Your body sighed at the sight, the bedroom door still closed - Dolores blocking you out. You traipsed solemnly back outside each time and found something more to do until a yowl of emptiness gargles in your stomach, and you're forced inside in search of lunch.

Dolores needed time, but the longer it went on the more your worries heightened, your concentration on the most basic tasks waning. Your hand slips as you cut a sliver of cheese, catching your thumb with the knife. Hissing and waving your hand about you peer at the little cut, then squeeze it till a few beads of blood come out. As you suck the painful digit, you decide plating up some bread and cheese for her too seemed like a good idea. You nervously face the closed door, lifting your hand to knock. “Dolores…?” You call softly through the aged wood.

“In here,” She replies, as if you didn't know thats where she had been hiding out all morning. You ease the door open and step tentatively through the gap to set the plate down on the bed. Dolores is sitting cross legged on the floor, hair pinned up out of the way, surrounded by papers and scraps covered in black charcoal sketching. You step toward her, peering at the apparent disarray, watching how she holds up a page, examining the face she’s drawn. Her fingers are blackened by the sooty charcoal, and there are fingerprints over all the drawings from where she had picked up each one, altered it, smudged the hair or the lines on the forehead and scattered it away with the others. Who was this person? The face that held her attention so?

“Come to give me more o’that confusing talk,” Dolores murmured, without looking around to you. She was focused elsewhere, determined to pull these images from her mind and see them look back at her in a real, physical format. Not just broken shards of things that chopped and changed overtime when she closed her eyes and looked for them.

You drop slowly to the bed, pulling one knee up and leaning on it. “You said earlier, you know who you are,” You swallow, looking at your lap, at her, and the things she was creating. She was becoming her own person, and it was hard to understand. All the difficulties that you had with regular people were usually assuaged at work because Hosts behaved a certain way, did a certain thing and the ease of that routine felt comforting. Knowing there was a right way to be, the right thing to say. Thats what had made you so good at it, behaviour programming. But humans were unpredictable and complicated and _stabbed you_ to prove a point.

“Thats right.” Dolores looked round to your briefly, a firm look in her eyes that made you drop your gaze to your lap. She returned to her drawings, satisfied, saying nothing.

“But I’m not - _would not_ , tell you who you are,” You hum softly, batting your hands together nervously. “Only you get to decide that Dolores.” You scoot a little closer toward the end of the bed nearly tipping the plate over, and the fine soft movements of her sketching pauses a moment, her hand hovering over the page. “What I’m asking you to understand is _what,_ you are.” You tease out the difference between the two questions.

It would be easier to just forget the whole thing and let her believe whatever she wants, play happy families up the mountain and romp around in the sunshine, than push for this level of clarity and understanding you were hoping for.

“Perhaps if we had a gramophone you could listen back to yourself,” Dolores replied cattily, tidying together her papers and dirtying her skirt with powdered charcoal as she wrung her fingers clean on it. She pushed back onto her heels and leant on the bed to stand, preferring the dominance of looking down at you on the bed, rather than the other way around. You tilt your head observing the behaviour, how purposeful it seems, unless you're simply reading too much into it, attributing meaning where she could have just been getting leg cramp. “You’re asking me to, just _believe_ I’m not a human,” Dolores says challengingly. “Like people believe in God or some higher power, nothing to go on, but the words of others.” Dolores raises her eyebrows, reaching her hand from her hip to graze the edge of her fingers under your chin, lifting it just slightly until your eyes find her determined gaze. “Hmm?

Your mind twitched as your head subtly lifts for her, starting to question yourself and what you were even trying to tell her. “But you’ve been there, to my world to the labs. Didn't you see how different it was?” Your whispering voice begs as her touch falls away.

“Of course, I’m not simple, Frances. I might not understand it all, not quite yet. But its coming,” She says with a defiant fold of her arms, her whole body seeming to stiffen with the conundrum you were presenting her. Dolores angles her head just so, casting her eyes out of the window and to the world beyond, knowing the meaning of it was out there, she just hadn’t quite grasped yet. Something, _something_ was there, calling to her, just out of reach like a whisper in the wind. Dolores wished she could simply pluck these truths from the air, but every time she tried they turned to dust in her fingertips, and slipped away into nothing.

Sliding from the bed to your knees you rummage through the duffel bag and the seemingly endless outfits Dolores had brought, to fish out your three panel, fold out computer. “What if, I show you something?” The little click the sides made when you opened it up warmed you, the familiarity of the sound, as you settle into the routine you had opening up files and searching them. Its been only a few days but it already felt so long. “It might help,” You nudge, and she nonchalantly turns her head back down to you, soft lines centring on her forehead as she frowns. Unfolding her arms she gives in to her curiosity, and peers at it.

“What did you call it…?” Dolores asks as she sits beside you, and you share it between your laps balancing the screen on one palm to display it for her.

“A computer. Or a tablet,” You brighten, encouraged by her interest. Perhaps, this could be the way through the forest of confusion. As she could see it, in front of her, you could prove you weren’t trying to fool her, or lead her along on some folly. But that she is an incredibly powerful machine with infinite capacity for learning and adapting, and all she needs to do is _see_ it, accept it now, this gift you were offering her.

Dolores gestures with a small nod of her head. “Show me,” She instructs you, her voice low and husky.

“It has everything on here, your script, the narrative you followed each day, past configurations - “ You explain, tapping your finger left and right on the menus and buttons - and then laugh at yourself and your eagerness, realising you’ve lost her along the way. “Sorry. Um, when a change is made or something is removed, its called a new configuration.” Dolores narrows her eyes as she thinks about it, her focus shifting between the screen, and you, wanting to at least, _look_ like she's being willing. You talk with such certainty, but to Dolores its as though you’d come from some far off place, adrift now in her world, with words and objects that didn't fit. Didn't belong. “Like a new version of the program that, helps you operate.”

Dolores watches the screen move as you scroll through her old code, now dormant. “These, _programmes._ They make other machines work too? Like the steam train in town …watches and the like?” Her lack of understanding is gently endearing, to her it must all seem the same. Complicated machines that did magical things; you’re reminded momentarily of her mothers attitude toward the Sweetwater train. Even though she was a Host she reflected people of the time, not trusting those ‘modern inventions’ they couldn't begin to comprehend.

“In a sense,” You concede, realising from this you need to really break it down for her, but at least she's listening. You tap her profile and the screen splits into current programming, options for different systems and histories. “See, heres you, and … a big empty space where the code should be because somehow, you're awake now. You don't need it.”

Dolores hovers her finger over the plastic screen, darting her eyes to you for a moment before pressing the pad of her finger to the small circular picture in the corner. Her image appears bigger on the screen, her name, the location she was based. _Dolores Abernathy/Abernathy Ranch/Last Service …_

She retracts her hand as though scalded, and you sense the quiver to her as her breathing shallows.

It was her picture, her name on this … this _computer_? You had one, like the people in that cold place she was taken and controlled, _your world._ Is this how they did it? Why she did things always the same, felt words speak through her that were alien to her? So long she had wondered, stared into her mind and seen things, heard that voice. _Remember._ And yet, for all her searching she couldn’t ever remember, only moments like droplets stolen from a great sea of information on the edge of the horizon. Dolores could see it, hear its crashing waves but not step into it.

Dolores curled her arm through yours and for a moment didn't say anything, craving only the child-like reassurance and safety from someone who could make sense of things. Not for the first time, Dolores thought of her father, his smile that greeted her every morning, his stories and tales she had so devoured. He was the hero of all her childhood stories, and it pained Dolores that, it was all just, _fantasy._ It wasn’t real and had never been. She squeezed your arm harder and tucked her chin against your shoulder as if hiding from this painful reality you held in your hands. Slow quiet tears rolled silently down her cheeks, but you were focused on the screen and she was glad of it.

Dolores didn’t want you to coddle her. She’d always expected it to be Teddy, the boy who always returned, who teased her with stories of wondrous places down south, where all her dreams could come true. Where the mountains meet the sea, a house for them both and their children that … Dolores blinked quickly and swiped the tears away with her fingers, rubbing her nose on your shoulder as if it were a kiss.

_Silly girlish dreams._

“Will it show me my father?” Dolores croaked, then cleared her throat hearing how emotional she had gotten.

You huff gently, wondering if it was a purposeful quote of Fords and his many literary influences, or simply fluke. “Its not a magic mirror,” You reply in jest, but the obvious discontent that stares back at you in Dolores’s expression makes you feel awkward. You shake your head dismissively. “Oh, nothing. Its from a book.” You start to click through the screens with rhythmical taps of your finger as you go through the diagnostic they did on her yesterday; you hadn’t had a chance to examine their findings yet and it was automatic to busy yourself with it.

Dolores unarms herself and sits back a little, tucking her hair behind one ear. “Don’t … don’t do that,” She scolds you, offended by how easily you could brush aside her lack of worldliness. It wasn’t her fault, she was only just beginning to make sense of things and you weren’t respecting that. “Think me childish for not knowing a thing.” Dolores stood suddenly, arching her fingers over her forehead and needing to walk, just walk and move and not dwell on how much she _didn't know._

_Just a foolish girl who had believed the ruse, the lies._

Your lips bunch, pausing what you’re doing as an immediate pang of guilt gets you in the gut. “I’m sorry, I didn't mean to,” You call after her, tucking your arm around your middle with a wince, the dull ache of Williams knife stabbing you again. The impending doom crawls icily through your veins washing you towards darkness.

Nearly dying.

How it had felt, it was still there in your mind. Waiting in the shadows when your emotions struck. Sure, the physical wound was torched closed in a few minutes but mentally, you felt it.

Emerging the bedroom after her telling yourself to _stop it,_ focus on her, you find Dolores already pacing, hands on her hips. “I need you trust that I can handle this, Frances.” Dolores entreats you. She stops her pacing, cutting a strong outline as you hover in the doorway.

Dolores _wanted_ to take that step now, from the ease of a programmed Dolores, the sweet girl that laughed at your jokes and smiled each time you came home from driving the herd all day; to the sentient driving force in your life, making demands and pushing you as much as you were pushing her.

You’re not sure if you’re ready for it, and guiltily clutch the computer to your chest.

“Show me.”

Your grip around the edges of the computer tightens somehow. What if Dolores accessed her own make-up? Her personality her code, or any of the others? No, she wouldn't know what to do or what any of it was. Just show her the pictures, things she could comprehend.

Dolores held out her hand, giving you an expectant look.

Your shoulders tense, and moving your eyes up and down between the screen in your hands and the woman standing her ground in front of you it feels like some sort of threshold is upon you. _This,_ is what you have been guiding her toward this whole entire time, awareness of her existence and her make-up and the park, and yet, now you were here, you were reluctant to let it happen. What good could come of it, her seeing these past incantations, loop upon loop of the same outcome, her father shot up riddled with bullets. The photos are taken on the unfeeling metal slabs down in the body shop to keep a record. It was nothing short of a mortuary, and not a place for a girl like Dolores.

As you look up again you realise she's stepped around the table, the questioning look at your hesitation more directed, chiding. “Frances.” She says coolly. With a whine you slap the computer into her hand, giving it up. There. Done.

You remember yesterday, and the fear that surged through her when she returned to her homestead, bolting from the doorway like a spooked filly, hurrying back into your arms at even the sight of such bloody memories, her father and mother bound to those chairs by William. Yet less than a day later she was searching out more of it, her past and his ever intertwined, the protective father and his tender hearted daughter. She stares at the picture. “Whats happened to him?” Dolores murmurs in a quiet, solemn voice. You’d expected tears, wailing even like before. But she was calm. Still.

All you’d ever wanted to do was keep her safe, and here now she was being exposed to the chilling reality you had wiped her memory of every night. You had to brave this, trust her in turn that she was ready, even if the worry of what it could do plagued you horribly. Things couldn't stay the same forever. Dolores was awake, sentient, that much was certain. This has to happen, you tell yourself.

“Its, all the times he's died, mostly protecting you,” You reply, wanting to give his death a sense of purpose each time, but it came off more insensitive than you had hoped.

Her features harden, the warmth of her eyes slipping into cooler, bluer tones, the angle of her jaw rigid as her finger swipes aside each photograph. “How can a person die and come back? Its not possible - “ Dolores mutters almost to herself, shaking her head incredulously.

“For humans its not. For Hosts, it is.” You ease into one of the chairs aside the fireplace, giving her space. Its unknown territory for the both of you, and for the first time you doubt yourself as being the right person for this. What if you cant guide her through it like she needs? If her questions surpass you, or it alters her in some deep seated way and its your fault? What if you’re not strong enough?

Snapping the sides of the tablet together she tosses it with a clatter to the table. “Why don't I remember it?” Dolores demands, pointing at the tech. “Any of it?” Her chest heaves with unbridled breaths, her emotions surging. Her hands cradle around her forehead as she paces, squinting and squeezing her eyes shut at the sensations, the juddering in her mind like something sticking, catching, that couldn't release. “Its like, like…l-l-like,” Dolores puffs a breath and tries again, her words struggling, “- like pieces of my mind have been ripped right out of me.”

 _Fuck_ , you leap to your feet and try and grab a hold of her steady her from glitching. “Thats, because they have,” You grip her arms and try and steady her. “But its okay - !”

Dolores balls her fists and brings her arms between you both half struggling half not knowing what she would do if you let go. “But why? Why would they do that to me!” She wails covering her face and feeling the rich flood of memory beginning to crack the walls protecting her mind. It was pounding and pounding the pressure immense, images and faces and darkness and dirt beneath her boots as she felt herself thrown from her feet and hands tangling in her hair, groping her body from all sides a mewl breaks from her lips and she fumbles through the fog grabbing a hold of your shirt and lets herself fall against you, hiding in the crook of your neck.

“Because of what you are,” You cradle her, your grip on her arms easing and slipping to her waist, finding that join of her skirt and corset, teasing your finger in between the two like you always do. The gentle pressure was a familiar one to her, like a rope leading her through the fog back to now, to you. She eases off you just a little, part of her wanting to run away _again_ , away from here away from all of it. But there wasn’t anywhere she could go.

Dolores couldn't hide from _herself._ “They, changed me?”

“Well, more like, they kept you the same,” You explain as gently as you can. Phrases are burned in your mind about her; cruel and callous the way Newcomers and - if you're honest, some of the staff of Westworld talk of her. It was too easy for them to see the dress and pass derogatory comments, see her as nothing more than a character in their fantasies, a welcoming smile with a hayride at the end. Not capable of thinking or feeling, but that wasn’t _just_ down to her being a Host, and thats the painful part of it. William had turned his hand from abusing and subjugating her, to doing the same to _you._ You’re a woman, as she is. “Each time something … bad happens, they take it away,” You continue. “If you remembered what Newcomers do each time, you would learn, adapt. Change your behaviour and then -“ She’s waiting for that moment of clarity, staring at you, searching for something without in your words but not knowing what it looked like. “Well you’d go off your loop. Like we are now.” You tease the end of her her long hair in your fingers, twisting it and sighing, settling your hand at her waist again. This was so much harder than you had ever thought.

“What do you mean by that? My, _loop_?” Dolores says the word slowly, as though she has trouble pronouncing it, the idea alien to her. She observes your affections with a subtle twist of her jaw. She’s not sure how she feels about it. You … _know_ her, in a way she doesn't know herself.

“Hosts are designed to … do a certain thing. Follow the same path each day, interact with Newcomers so they can, _experience_ the Park,” You reveal, sadness tinging your words. It was impossible to tell her what they _really_ wanted, from her, from the rest of her kind. If you could save her from that, the repetitive nightly trauma you had lived through, listened to, punished yourself for and orchestrated entirely by Ford for his sadistic experiment, then you would. Thats why you had convinced her to come with you up here, in the first place.

“Don’t call me that,” Dolores quipped, drawing back with a stern expression. “ _Host._ ” She pronounces slowly, for the first time. “It .. might be what I am, or so you say, but you don't have to go hollering it like an insult, like you’re looking down on me.”

You step in close as she retreats, not wanting her to leave your arms, whining quickly. “I wasn’t - “ You hurry to apologise, kicking yourself for talking so objectively about it like you were giving a damn presentation. Dolores seemed hurt by your use of the word, and you make a mental note to be more careful about it. It was understandable that she didn't like the word, considering she’d only just started to grasp its concepts. It was probably too confronting, too soon. “I didn't mean anything by it… I promise I don't think of you that way Dolores,” You squeeze her hips and hold onto her despite her vague protestations to the contrary, bunching her lips as she stared away to avoid your desperate pleading eyes. Dolores wanted to be cross with you, with all of it this truth this reality she never asked for. Dolores needed it to make _sense but_ as of yet, the pieces were still floating above the jigsaw board not quite slotting into place. They needed rearranging, or filling in, but when she wasn’t aware of which pieces were missing, it was impossible to search for the answer.

As she gave in to your nudging ministrations she turned her eyes down to yours, and felt the tension soften. _Look at you_. This wasn’t your fault. You were trying your best and from what she could remember, which was still limited - you had done nothing but the right thing, every time, by her. With a reassuring smile, she strokes your hair back from your face and you beam uncontrollably to her touch. Slipping her hands down to yours, she gives both your hands a squeeze in unison, then brings you to the table, just a step.

“They’re on there?” Dolores gestures to the tablet, bringing you to the table, the technology lying still where she had tossed it in anger. “My memories o’these things?”

You look up at her, shoulders tensing at even the mention of them. “Yes.”

Letting your hand go purposefully, she draws one of the chairs out and sits herself down with a swipe of her skirts under her thigh, preparing herself. “I want to see them.” You stare at her, this woman so lost and yet composing herself with determination. The _growth,_ from worry and alarm and panic fearing the unknown to facing it, craving more of it. The more she can learn the more she can understand, its logical, for a computer interfaced mind like hers but, you wish you could shield her a little longer. Keep her all to yourself.

Dolores nods at you to activate the computer for her, expecting no resistance. She needs to do this independently. Its her life, she has a right to know it.

But she didn’t know what she was asking.

You had barely managed a few hours of her cradle-back ups and viewing to prep you for her narrative, and that had been horrendous purely for how easy it was to imagine the rest of it. She was set up to be friendly, sweet, accommodating and not put up a fight. Humanity took advantage as soon as the camera was turned away, time, after goddamn time.

That was before you came into that park, and had met her. You’re not sure how you would cope if you saw that same footage now, after having _lived through it._ Now you felt for her the way you do.

You inch behind her, playing your hand on her shoulder and the side of her neck making her lean into your affections. Dolores allows it, this, stalling tactic from you, it almost makes her smile how predictable you were. “Your past doesn't make you who you are. You have a chance now, so few people ever get. To choose who they want to be, and … and I know if you see these things it’ll change you, and I don’t want you to change Dolores,” You implore her, bringing yourself round so she can see how earnestly you mean it. You’re not trying to restrain this blossoming independence in her but, you _know_ the pain thats contained on those archived memory recordings.

“It isn't your choice to make, Frances,” Dolores retorts, taking your hand off her to slip her fingers through yours. “You want the best for me, I know that, I’ve always known that …” She leans forward in her seat encouraging you down to her, her hair tumbling lightly as she finds your eyes and you feel her hand on your cheek. You relax into the tenderness of it. “But you cant keep protecting me, Frances. I must know whats been taken from me.” She rubs the building tears from your eyes before they fall, and touches her forehead against yours. Your eyes fall shut, and breathing nervous warm breaths over her lips, you nod.

Dolores settles back in the chair, her hands held in her lap, laying upon each other in that dainty feminine way she does, waiting as you click open the sides of the computer and bring up the files for her. After looking to her again for final confirmation, your finger still only hovering over the play button, you see she's not going to be wavered from this. You touch your finger to the screen, activating the start of the footage with a heavy heart. 

How the images sprang to life in crisp video was like nothing she had ever seen, and the clarity of it made Dolores gasp for a second until she became used to it, the technology far beyond that of the tin-type pictures she was used to. You want to stay at her side, support her physically as well as emotionally but as soon as the evening loop starts up you grimace and turn away. You can hear it, thats enough. “Frances this… this _happened?_ ” Dolores whispers, her hand trembling as it raised to her mouth, the horror in her eyes a look you don't want to see ever again. You back up a few steps hugging your arms around yourself not wanting to be near it.

You feel it again. The creep of his hand over your shoulder and down inside your shirt and it makes you writhe and shirk away. _Stop,_ you tell yourself pathetically, your mind playing over this feeling it conjures in you. You tell yourself its barely worth noting compared to what she had been through. Things happen. But it had never happened to you before, and hearing her screams on the recording makes you feel just as powerless as you had been back there in the Mesa, on your knees, under his hand. You hurry to the doorway and grasp the frame as your panicked breaths surge.

Taking a lungful of fresh air you stand in the doorway and face the lowering afternoon sun, blocking out the sounds as best you can with the creaking of tall pine trees, the rustling of a racoon somewhere on the forest floor. But its still there echoing the tiny room, pounding in your ears like drums of thunder circling round and around in the eaves forming a perfect storm. _I heard they're built to be like virgins every time. Laughing voices and frightened mewls as she scrabbles across the floor No no please!_

“Why would someone want to do such awful things to me?” Dolores’ voice cracks emotionally as she speaks.

A shiver runs up your back, and you suck your bottom lip staring at the magnificence of the vista before you, such a backdrop for such brutality had never been imagined. The voices change, and you glance over your shoulder. Her finger is swiping the video sideways and starting another. Then another. “You don't need to keep - “ You start toward her, seeing the way her head is twitching its too much, too challenging no matter how brave she wants to be. 

“Who is he? He's different …” Dolores points at the man on the screen, giving some talk to Teddy before setting off shots and making a grab for her.

“They’re… Newcomers. Guests, to the park.” You clarify bitterly, though if it makes it any clearer for her or not you're not sure. 

Dolores changes videos. “And this one…” You’re feeling the pressure in the room rise, her brow tightening and body fixing as though changing, maturing before your very eyes. You hurry a step back to the table gesturing to give you the tablet back but she scoots it out of your way, gripping it both sides in her hands as though experiencing some obsession in watching the violence unfold, over and over each video the same she barely starts it and swipes it to the next. “Is it all like this?”

“I’ve never gone through your archived memories, and I wouldn't want to. I don't want to see it… to see you …,” You trail off, physically jumping at the sound door of the barn is thrown open in the video, stiffening against the surge in adrenaline thats flying around your body. You recognise it, this feeling of dread knowing what was to come, knowing Ford had forbade you interfere and forced you to duck cowardly around the side of the house, awaiting your threshold. He’d wanted you to evolve, and you had. You only regret that it had taken you so goddamn long to realise you were nothing but a pawn in a game. Just like a Host. You rub your neck painfully and shift you weight back and forth trying to subdue your agitation.

Dolores vision is focused now not on the screen but _you_ , not that you’ve noticed. A deep frown plays over her features, a twist to her head as if working out some painful kink in her neck thats forming from the seed of such tragic knowledge being felt in her body anew. Her suffering on the video was making _you_ suffer, causing a curious physical discomfort in you she could read so clearly. The noise alone was repeating the emotions back to you.Dolores tilts her head, her eyes grazing down your body, examining it. The video still played but it wasn’t real. Simply a reproduction, a captured moment - real or not she didn't remember. It was her on the video and yet, she felt so removed from it, so distant like she wasn’t really that girl anymore.

Like it had happened to someone else.

But you were haunted by it. The fear, the anger it was dancing around you like the crackle of the same thunder was jumping to the ground sparking at you, pricking your body in tiny jolts. Dolores takes a sharp breath in and slams the sides of the computer closed, standing abruptly from the chair and shoving the thing into her skirts. “I have to take this … get rid of it Frances … I don't want it in the house,” She commands resolutely, covering it with one hand.

You sniff, and stare at the shut-off shiny surface poking out of her pocket. “What if I need it, it can you bring you back - “

Dolores steps in close, bringing her hand to your waist and feels her thumb over your ribs, her other hand drawing your eyes up to her with a graze of her fingers down your jaw. Dolores wouldn’t let you suffer like this, you needed her. “Are you with me or with them, Frances?” She had to nudge you out of your anxieties and get you back to being that heroic force she needed you to be. You had risked everything for her, because you believed in her and loved her - though her comprehension of such matters was basic. Dolores knew she’d been asleep too long to really _know,_ such depth of love just yet, and that which lay already in her - such as the love she held for her father, was bitterly laced with the knowledge now that it had been written into her programming.

“You… obviously you - “ You bleat in a hurry.

“Then you don't _need_ it. And neither do I,” Dolores decides with such finality you can tell she's not going to go back on it. She's embraced her true self, only to reject it utterly. “I don't want you near such … such evil,” Dolores squeezes your hip as she leans in to plant a soft kiss on your forehead, then turns from the room.

“Of course, whatever you say.” You murmur with begrudging acceptance, tucking one arm around your ribs as she strides out the cabin with the laptop in hand, disappearing out of sight for a few minutes.

Should you follow after her? What was she doing with it? You _wanted_ to accept her opinion on the matter, but … but that computer allowed you to wake her up again if she got shot. If William found you both and enacted whatever revenge he wanted, if she glitched from her system overloading or-or if … you rub your fingers over your eyes feeling the comfort blanket of the modern world being stripped away. How could you belong in here while still craving the advantages of out there? Were you committing to this? A 6 month contract was just that, and you theoretically had a job to do even if you weren’t on loop right now. Your job was maintain the Hosts, correct their coding from within the park, surely you could argue that by following her - framing it as you following her and not that the journey had been instigated by you, you _were_ still doing your job.

But there was going to come a point that you would be recalled. 6 months was longer than the last contract but, it wasn’t forever. You’d never be able to stay here, it wasn’t _real,_ there was a boundary, somewhere miles away for sure but it was there. You would love to lose yourself in the grit and realism, reject the modern world and practice your gun skills ride the trails with her and fish in the river, live a life here, _with her._ One you’d never have on the outside.

You’re scared of losing yourself to the fantasy.

As Dolores’ boots climb onto the porch and she comes back inside brushing her hands clean on her skirt, she closes the door of the cabin behind her, wordlessly walking toward you one hand gathered in her skirts the other holding out to you.

You take it willingly, follow as she leads you towards the bedroom again shutting the door and putting you on the side of the bed. Dolores plays her fingers at her waist quietly, head ducked, honey soft hair framing her pale cheeks lightly dusted in pink from whatever she had done outside.

Reaching for her thigh you give her a subtle reminder you’re there. Pull her from her thoughts. She smiles lightly, that warmth returning to her eyes you hadn’t seen since she woke this morning and stole your coffee. She retuned the gesture with a tickle of her fingers one your cheek, your adoring eyes furnishing her the confidence she needed to do this. “I need you to do something for me, Frances.”

You nod. “What can I do?” Yes. Focus on her. It was better than unpacking your own thoughts right now.

Dolores starts to wiggle the knot at the base of her corset, deft movements of her fingers as she unlaces it, right under her bust. You ease back, watching with murmuring confusion. Dolores drops the corset to the floor, and then does the same for her skirt, popping the buttons undone first and then untying the bow, unwrapping the blue and cream material from her hips until it was loose and fell with a light cotton thud to the floor. She steps her feet out of it, and hooking her fingers in the hem of the oversized shirt she lifts it up and over her head, sucking her bottom lip for a second before dropping that too, to the floor. “I … I want you to show me,” Her voice quivers, reaching for your hand again inviting you to stand. She's beautiful beyond words, and as she places your hand on her bare waist, naked as could be.

You feel your breathing quicken, her lips parting just so as her own breathing deepens. Dolores feels that pull deep in her belly, waits for it, wanting to recognise the sensation as she guides your hand, moving your wrist until you hand covers her breast, and then places her hand atop yours holding you there. You’re trembling, she can feel it, the little blue veins in your neck throb quicker. Dolores watches you react, too. “Show me that you love me. That you’re different.”

You stare at your hand, where it is, and what she's asking. “Are you, sure?”

Copying something you usually did, she dragged what remained of your hair-tie out so the burnt brown locks swing loosely around your shoulders. She teases a lock of it around her finger, twisting and playing with it as she talks. “You said, I don't need to follow their path anymore,” Dolores hums, her voice smooth and mellow like vanilla cream but grittier, mature and considered. She spoke as someone who had been through things and was making _this_ consciousness choice. It wasn’t on a whim, or full of heady lusty imaginings driven by inexperience and curiosity. “I want to write my own story,” She declared, and began unbuttoning your shirt. You feel heat pool between your legs, which you guiltily think she seems to notice, making you blush. The corner of her lips uptick into the smallest of smiles, tender, sincere. “I want to know what love feels like.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, longer wait that I would've liked but, life, bank holidays, work … anyway. I hope the near 7k length makes up for it! Enjoy and let me know what you think :)

Your shirt was off. Breeches strewn on the floor, only those starched cotton under-shorts remained, and you’re barely breathing, her fingers playing with the strings at your waist. “God you’re blushing,” Dolores remarked with an air of surprise to her southern lilting.

You cant help but laugh at the obvious statement, as her fingers trail up your abdomen and stroke your chest, following the smooth lines of your collarbone left and right with her fingertips, down again between your breasts like she was mapping out every contour. “Well - I - …” You blush harder, you feel yourself heating up and your broken nose throbs painfully. “I don't often, you know.” You stutter nervously, apparently no inhibitions halting Dolores’ explorative touch as she coasts her palm over your breast, making you shudder and laugh awkwardly. She was keen to learn, and live, and she had every right to. “It’s been a while…and I like you.” You take her hand and stop her a moment, just hold her hands between you both, her naked and waiting to be shown, standing there all lily-white skin like she’d never seen a day of sun. You were glad at least you maintained a modicum of decency with your waist still covered.

Dolores wriggled one hand free to comb her fingers through your now loose hair, a little knotty from lack of care, showing her eagerness to do this. Explore this with you, _now._ “I know,” She smiled, that sweet smile that endeared her to so many, but only _you_ did she choose to have in her bed. Dolores steps around you to sit on the bed, easing herself back across the messy sheets and you quickly move the forgotten plate of bread and cheese on the floor before it slips, as the mattress dips to her subtle weight. You’re standing there staring, your hormones rushing ahead of you. 

“Frances?” She tilts her head curiously, prompting you. You huff and blush heavily, shaking your head at yourself. It had been a while since you’d been with anyone, and the pressure was heavy in your mind. This wasn’t just sex, it was … you proving yourself. Showing her what love feels like for goodness sake, it was purposeful and tender and you want her to enjoy it, after all those _bad things_ , as she called them.

You kneel up on the bed after her, her hands feeling over your hips and drawing you to her. But today had been, _difficult,_ she had only just begun to accept what she is and had obsessively flicked through video footage of men abusing her, and their hands were on her their intentions just like this and - “Frances.” Her voice comes again.

“Sorry, I’m just,” You mumble and move with her, as she lays back and effortlessly draws you over her. Your breathing quickens, bracing your arms either side of her body, hips laying against hers.

You gaze down at her, the curve of her face, the soft shallow of dimples either side of her mouth. Dolores offers the subtlest of smirks, caressing your cheeks and lifting her head to bring your lips together in a first, chaste kiss. Your breathing quivers hotly over her lips, and closing your eyes you kiss her back, feeling your body awakening despite the anxieties in your mind. Dolores tucks her hand around to your neck and pulls you into the kiss, kissing you harder. “Are you sure?” You pant, your legs naturally shifting either side one of hers, a soft grind betraying how hungrily you want this, too.

With a teenage fumble between your thighs, she smirks at how it makes you gasp, even through your underwear. “Yes,” She affirms. She needs this from you, to make this decision, to solidify this bond you have and simply to _feel what love means._

Dolores knew there was things she must learn, and her questions about that unnatural place she was taken, the things she heard and where Newcomers came from, were many and complicated. But first, she craved understanding of _herself,_ and you were the conduit to that. 

Finding your instinct take over, you shift your body just so as you lean down to kiss her. “I love you,” You whisper, and close the gap between your lips again. Dolores moans gently, her hands settling on your waist as you urge your tongue deeper in her mouth. Her fingers curl around the hem of your starched underwear, opening her mouth to dance her tongue around yours, deep and carnal. Dolores doesn’t remember a kiss like that, opening herself up to another in such a vulnerable way. Even her kisses with Teddy, whom she loved in her own way, were tender but polite.

Instead theres something urgent and primal about the way she devours your kisses and tugs you harder against her. You gasp for breath as you break back for just a moment, enough to chuckle lustily and nuzzle your nose into her cheek, making her laugh at your playfulness. You weren’t usually confident, and Dolores likes how this seems to be the place your anxieties take a back seat. You trail your lips down her neck brushing her hair away to kiss her pulse point, though nothing beats beneath it, it doesn’t stop the it feeling good when you suck there. Dolores angles her head giving you her neck, this age-old behaviour of letting someone see you vulnerabilities, like you were two wild things tussling together. “ _Ohh_ …,” She whimpers, the ache in her belly burning between her legs as her whole body feels just, more alive, more sensitive, more aware of every brushing touch you grace her with.

You smile between kisses, encouraged by the sounds and the dig of her fingers harder into your hips. Spreading your hands wide over her ribs you move slowly down to nip at the soft tissue of her breast, daring to circle her nipple with your tongue. Dolores squeaks at first, then moans into it as the tingles shiver down between her legs right from what your mouth is doing. She arches her back into the sensation, tipping her head and despite everything thats happened, you giggle at her. _She likes it._ You copy the motion, your tongue flicking teasing her other nipple and shift your hand between her thighs, grazing the soft flesh there feeling only a moment of hesitation before cupping her firmly, finding her already wet.

Your mind tugs away, debating if this is her, _really_ her reactions or some programming quirk thats been cruelly played into her code to make her receptive to Guests advances.

But the way her hips wriggle side to side seeking more friction of your hand is all for _you,_ and you know you need to get of your head because hell, she's whining in arousal and skating her fingers up your bare back and this feels _so right._

Dolores drags her nails down your spine then skims them up again, smirking at the faint slide of sweat already heating on your skin. You were breathing faster, your face flushed with effort and Dolores decides she likes seeing you out of your worries for a while, existing just now, you and her and these throbbing urges between your bodies. Perhaps this is why people like it, Dolores muses as you kiss down her abdomen. This moment of _nothing_ , no outside thought no worrying no-one else existing in the whole world, but each other.

Finding your confidence, you urge her thighs apart and she angles her hips just so, curling her shoulders off the bed wondering what you were doing. This isn't akin to the notions that she knows. “Where are you going?” Dolores pants, her hair wild around her head like an off-kilter halo as she stares at you in bemusement. You lift her thigh and settle between them, your hand gently massaging over the soft bed of rusty blonde hair at their apex.

“Trust me?” You heave softly, your thumb nudging around her clit, locking eyes with her as you peerup from where you’ve gotten settled.

Dolores whines a little, she has no idea what you’re doing but its nothing she knows, and wants you up here in her arms kissing her more - _that_ felt good, warm and comforting and tender and…Dolores gasps headily. “What …!” She squeaks as you nudge your nose between her folds and lick her clit for the first time. You laugh, curling one arm up around her thigh lifting it to naturally spread her a little and give you better access. You were in your stride now, you knew what you were doing and she was lapping up your confidence.

You build a slow sensual rhythm with your tongue, and with nothing else of you to hold she curls her fingers through your hair, scraping her nails against your scalp as the pressure ebbs and flows between her legs. You lick and flick, and sometimes circle, altering the sensations just so, every so often peeking up to check her expression, watching and feeling for what she responds to, which movements she likes best. Sometimes her thighs clamp tighter over your shoulders as she writhes, arching and shifting like a woman possessed, and you grin against her glistening creamy folds as your heart swells, her pleasure building.

“You good?” You press up one arm, wanting to watch the flutter of her eyes, her lip red raw from how she's biting it. You’ve kept your thumb continuing the urging pressure to fake-yawn your jaw and stretch it out from getting cramp, so as not to lose the sensations for her.

Dolores nods in stricken hurried movements, her eyes snapping open for a moment nostrils flaring as she pants, an intense look in her eyes as she locks her gaze with yours. “Don’t stop …”

You laugh and nod, kiss just below her belly button and return between her legs parting her folds deftly to lap your tongue over her sensitive nerves.

Dolores mewls with an ache she never knew she had, her body flush with heat and need as she shoves your shoulders back down, wanting that feeling again. It was strange, and incredible, and sparks seemed to run through her right to her fingers and toes every muscle tensing and cramping, her thighs _hurt_ as though she had been riding all day and her abdominals crunched as she curled half up off the bed and flopped down again. You were relentless. Dolores covers her eyes with one hand, panting hard and losing herself to the feelings that were just _beyond._ She felt outside of her body, but in a soul lifting heady way this time, her lungs filling with air as she arched and gasped, grinding her hips into the burst of sexual hunger that was beginning to wrack her. “I c-cant …!” She whimpers, losing control of her body to your tongue.

“You’re okay … you’re okay …,” You murmur and suck her clit into your mouth rushing her bounding to the edge you knew was coming. Your fingers circle her centre, up till now having avoided it, wanting to rewrite her knowledge of what sex is, what it feels like. But she needs that something extra now, so you do it, easing up out of the way just enough to bring your arm underneath you and test her with two fingers, then thrust your fingers deep inside her cushioned wetness.

Dolores cries out, her legs bending up her hips bucking against yours her back arching, fisting the sheets in agonising pleasure, as she comes over your fingers with a harsh trembling intensity. She’d needed that last penetrative movement, but thats okay. You grin, panting and catching your breath and slowly dragging your fingers back out wiping them quickly on the bed. You flop onto her waist, laying between her legs and dropping your head to her belly.

You don't want to grin about it, but it had felt amazing to finally show her how much you loved her, no holds barred no worrying about being watched no loop coming to get her; just you and her together. You clutch your arms around her waist where you’re laying, not ever wanting to let go.

Dolores slowly drags her hand from her eyes and stares at the ceiling, euphoric whirling shapes throbbing in her vision as though she had stared too long at the sun, her chest panting as she comes down steadily. She wanted to smile, to laugh, to - she didn’t quite know what. But she was trembling and you were warm on her waist lying there all calm and she couldn't help it, it was too much, too beautiful too .. too … “What…?” Dolores whimpers and sniffs, feeling ridiculously overcome her emotions swelling and gasping as her teeth chatter. Tears welled in her eyes.

You hear her voice cracking and sit straight up, balancing on your hands and shifting off her to the side, your stomach dropping. “Are… you alright?” You smear the damp blonde locks from her face wanting to soothe whatever was happening.

“What was that?” Dolores sniffles, unable to hold back her tears even though she knows how concerned you’ll be by them, but thats not what this is. It felt good, _so good_ … so peculiar but hot and cold at the same time, like fire and electricity and she couldn't describe it with words. She turns her head to you, now lying next to her as she desperately seeks clarity for what she just experienced.

Then it dawns on you. Hosts were there for the _Guests_ to enjoy, shoot, fuck whatever pleasure they were seeking. Even the specifics of Dolores’ narrative was written putting her in the passive position, there for the gratification of others.

No-one had ever stopped to think about, _her_ pleasure. Maybe she could only respond to others actions before? But she was her own person now and for the first time had experienced something, for _herself_. To receive that kind of love and pleasure and body tingling …you chuckle softly and press your lips to hers. “You had an orgasm,” You explain with a proud smile. _You’d done that._

Dolores nods as her tears freefall, laughing happily and rubbing her hand under her nose making a mess of wiping the tears and snot and sweat away, making her blush embarrassedly. “It was really nice!” She sobs, flapping her hands at her sides with a laugh not knowing what to make of it. You wrap your arms round her and clutch her to you kissing her hair, unable to express how honest and sweet a reaction it is for her. She's crying, because it felt _so good_ to feel something positive and wondrous come to life in herself, like she’d never felt before. Dolores happily snuggles close, pressing a gentle kiss to the purple line across your nose with a smile, loving how it feels to just be _held,_ after that. There was something different about it, than a normal hug, confirming and protective and binding the two of you to this very moment. You nuzzle your nose against her not caring if it irritate the nerves that needed to heal. For a few minutes the two of you just lie on the bed like this, not needing to say anything, not having any inclination to move. But Dolores peels herself back pressing a hand to your chest as she sits up on her elbow, a naughty light dancing in her eyes. “Do you think…,” She begins, and bites the side of her lip shyly. “ … could you do it again?”

You laugh, and give her a gentle squeeze. “Sure. I can probably manage that Dolores,” You kiss her forehead softly, and she captures your cheeks in her hands kissing you back, hungrily wanting more of _this._

———————

As days turned into weeks, you found a routine with Dolores that brought a level of contentment you had never felt with your previous, more modern life. It was a solitary lifestyle with her, but you didn’t pine. For in reality you didn’t miss anything, besides the nightly home cooked meals of Ma Abernathy, or a good espresso from the machine back at the Mesa.

Mornings you ride out for water from the creek at the base of the mountain, Dolores would walk and collect what she could from the surrounding forest, berries and mushrooms and nuts were plentiful this time of season, like an autumn harvest - though you’re not really sure if Westworld suffers the routine of changing of the seasons, for who would notice? But at least collecting the bounty of ‘nature’ meant Dolores didn't need to leave the perimeter of the safe-zone, so you called it, i.e what you knew to be the off-grid location you were both currently holed up in. What you had snaffled from the Abernathy’s pantry was only stretching so far, so for lunches you both made do with these offerings, eat on the porch together while Dolores bombarded you with questions she had compiled during her morning walk.

Some days they were deep, existential questions about the purpose of life, and love, and the constructs of what it means to belong, to a person or a place. How identity was formed and why people chose to believe one truth over another, free will and nature vs nurture.

Other days it was more practical concerns, about the Mesa, about technology and where Newcomers came from, how they got to Sweetwater. Where did the train go? Why don't other Hosts notice inconsistencies, or awaken as she has? Why was she different?

You didn't always have the answers and it frustrated Dolores, these human limitations of yours she encountered. You wished you had a deep library full of encyclopaedias and classic tomes of literature for her devour, for her ability to learn was outgrowing your loose memories from high school history class, or your limited knowledge of Westworlds standard operating procedures. Even as an employee you weren't significant in the social rankings, and people tended to stay within their groups, a strange social hierarchy between the different departments. Behaviour wouldn't talk to QA, who in turn thought themselves better than the body shop guys, and so on. But as such, such insider information was heavily segregated on a departmental need-to-know basis.

Sometimes you caught yourself wondering what she did with all this stuff, _why_ she needed to know the operating procedures of the park or why she brought them up time and time again. Theres a restlessness in Dolores you cant understand. Couldn't she be happy up here, with you?

Watching her grow was a gift, a beautiful one that smiled at you when she noticed you watching, blushing softly at your attention. Too often you find yourself explaining, humans don't remember with such perfect clarity, details fade and the gaps fill themselves in in your mind, not like her memories which seemed to be increasing day on day.

Dolores couldn’t help but bunch her lips in discontent, crunching the nuts from their shells a little more vigorously when you just _didn't know the answer._

But however she felt, most nights as you fall into bed - or later, if she stayed up late sketching, the moon already high before she joined you, Dolores would take her nightdress off and start to kiss you, instigating what she wanted. She wasn’t subtle about it, but didn’t say it in words, either. You’re more than happy to oblige to her blossoming sexual appetite, letting her explore and dictate her terms - some nights pushing your hand between her legs and some nights preferring your tongue. Dolores wasn’t crying afterwards anymore, you hadn’t been able to replicate that high of the first time, but instead she moaned and bucked and rode your fingers with the eagerness of someone searching for something, _craving_ something.

Dolores wanted to feel alive. In control.

You roll onto your back with a muffled yawn, arms stretching as you shift and yank the sheet around in your hand cuddling it subconsciously. You expect the rub of her body behind yours. Dolores isn’t one to give you personal space in bed so even through the haze of half-asleep sensations, you notice the absence of her weighted arm over your waist. Her legs aren’t tangled uncomfortably in yours, like she usually does, giving you dull brown bruises on your ankles.

The realisation that her side of the bed is empty shocks you awake, taking a sharp breath in and sitting right up, your hand reaching out but finding bare empty mattress. “Dolores?” You snap your head back and for looking around the room. Only silence echoes back from the cabin, and in a panic you throw your legs out of bed pulling yourself into a shirt while hurrying from the room. You swing round the doorway searching again through the living room. Kitchen cupboards, rocking chairs, table _empty_ \- the front door hung open and your stomach dropped. “Dolores!” You shout, awakening some birds in the high beams of the trees surrounding you who flutter into the sky in instinctive surprise.

Only when your toes hit the dirt losing your balance, practically flinging yourself off the porch in panic, do you see her, leaning against a tall red wood pine, a shallow hole beside her, and your computer on her lap. You stare, blinking at the shadow of her form, how she's sitting, one arm hung at her side, the other obviously in control of the tablet. Was she? … _fuck._ You pad over slowly, heart starting to pound as your eyesight adjusts to the twilight. You have sudden visions of decades old Terminator films, robots plugging themselves into the system. Its assaulting somehow, seeing the evidence of her mechanical build when you don't think of her that way.

“Dolores?” You murmur in concern, standing before her, the tails of your shirt billowing a little in the nighttime breeze.

The pale blonde lifts her head to huff at you. Her bedtime mess of long hair much in need of taming and styling, tumbles like a sea of spun gold about her shoulders, and for a moment you yearn for the neat Sweetwater look she used to wear. But this look feels natural to her now, like an unbroken filly not yet wrangled and roped in off the plains she called home.

“You caught me,” Dolores hums, a half guilty look on her face. She holds her hand up to you, inviting you to sit beside her on the earth. You gladly take her hand, tucking what length of shirt there is under your ass as you kneel down, peering at the screen and what she was doing, keeping a tight hold of her. You fold both of your hands around hers desperately. It had only been a minute you’d thought she was _gone,_ but it was too long and you don't want to give her hand back even when she gives you a subtle look, trying to shake you off.

“I woke up and you weren’t there and … I thought …,” You slide your knees over the earth shimmying closer to her, not caring if it makes you all dirty or that you’ll muss up the bedsheets when you get her back inside, you just need to be _close._

Dolores reaches her free hand to your cheek momentarily. “That I was gone?” She frowns in concern, reading your emotions in your eyes. She returns her hand to hovering over the laptop screen, swiping away the window she had had open and closing the sides inward. Dolores wouldn’t have you look over her shoulder for the rest of this, she had a singular goal and you would only distract her.

“I don’t know. Maybe.” You admit quietly, needing to give in finally and release her hand from the confines of your grip. Instead you stroke your fingers on her shin, comforting yourself more than her.

Twisting the wires apart, she unattached herself from the computer cable and lets it spool back in to the screen, before using her thumb to press the dissonant cable back into her brachial plexus. Dolores rolls down her sleeve to hide the neat inch long cut she had made in her flesh to find it. “I wouldn’t leave you Frances,” Dolores says emphatically, setting the computer aside and opening her arms expecting you to lean right into them, to her. “But I’n not gonna worry you needlessly, either,” She continues, adjusting herself against the tree trunk as you shift into her embrace, holding her arm around your chest tightly. You press a soft kiss on her forearm as she leans her body to your back and holds you safely. You hook your hands anywhere on her you can get purchase, and she huffs at your scrabbling. You were more emotive than she was, freely showing and giving all of yourself, but it left you vulnerable. “You do enough’o that for th’both of us.” Dolores learnt scope and scale of emotional response from you better than anything the computer could show her, watching videos seemed so flat compared to the rawness of how you, _humans_ felt things.

“So you sneak out in the night?” You whisper the accusation.

Dolores didn't try to deny it. She hooks her chin over your shoulder as she talks, her voice steady and low. “Yes. You usually sleep so heavily after sex.” Her head leans away a little to smirk at you.

You angle your eyes to hers, flickering mischievously. She seemed to know exactly how to assuage your tension, your brewing discontent. But those baby blue eyes sparkled at you, and the storm in your belly settled. “Every night then.”

“Hmm,” She chuckled and gave you a full body squeeze. You cherished this closeness from her, it felt like you had been waiting your whole life for someone to hold you like this, and you didn't want it to stop. Considering what you had endured through the weeks of her slow awakening, you wanted to keep this moment going on forever. But now she was outgrowing you, and you’re scared that she’ll pull away.

Soon, Dolores won’t need you.

“Your arm …,” You mumble, rubbing your thumb through her shirt on the vague dark stain of blood on her sleeve. “How did you know where that connection was?”

Dolores sighs heavily. So this was the problem. “It’s surprising what you can learn from this, _computer._ ” She replies quietly. Back home, you had always been the one to hold it, clear her mind and carry her upstairs to bed. All those bad dreams that had plagued Dolores, being trapped in her body and unable to move, unable to turn her head or let out a scream. Awake, but locked into the limitations of her mechanical form. So much blacked out, memories and objects, back when you had knelt at her side with it balanced in your lap, working on her programming, and restarting her _loop_. You’d be diligent, meticulous, she’d examined the coding herself. Her bad dreams had always blocked her from seeing it, even then when she had stared directly at it. _It doesn't look like anything to me._ Dolores squeezes her eyes shut, the line repeating in the back of her mind, wanting to be spoken.

“I’m not sure you should…be on it without me,” You bunch your lips, easing aside a little so you can talk better. Your eyes flick to the tablet, how she had _too quickly_ closed the sides and switched it off. Like she was concealing something from you. “How do you even know how to work it?”

“I watched you.” Dolores retorted plainly.

You turn properly our of her arms now, sitting yourself cross legged in the cool night air facing her head on. She was yours, but she was still a Host and having access to her core programming, the park - you’re not even sure what she could navigate to through your tablet if she wanted to. “Yes but-“

“You’re the one that always tells me my memories are like paintings, capturing moments perfectly in time. _Host,_ memories. I just copied what you showed me.”

“What are you doing…?” You whine, flapping your hands and dropping them in your lap again. You want to support her, give her everything of course you would never… say no, but this was _dangerous_. What if she changed herself by accident? Hacked into some key system and it was flagged up back in control, Stubbs and his men would be out with loaded guns looking for her. Dolores didn't understand the ramifications of her curiosity.

The corner of Dolores’ lips uptick into a wry smile, playfully batting away your concern. She wanted you on side. “Oh don’t look at me like I’m a naughty child - “

“I’m not!” You protest.

“I’m not inciting no revolution.”

“Good…” You mumble. 

She gestures to the tech, lying in the cool dirt as useless as the lump of rock next to it, if simply left here, smashed or out of battery. It had a finite quality to it, these modern inventions. They didn't stand the test of time like things in her world, the intruding thought in your mind that perhaps, humanity had gone too far. What use was it, once smashed up? None. Or the self driving cars you could never afford, the automated bots that talked to you on the phone instead of real people, was any of it really necessary? “I jus’ wanted answers,” Dolores says emphatically. You pick it up and dust it off with your fingers, so much of your capability wrapped up with this thing. But now she was likely better than you at it, God knows how many nights she had snuck out here and played around with it. “Can’t blame a girl for that.”

You lay the tablet back a little, stopping yourself from hugging it. Dolores had already taken it off you once, and maybe, she had been right to do so. But without it, what use were you to her? You couldn't protect her, you couldn't bring her back, and if Behaviour find out about her consciousness she’ll be reset and doomed for the incinerator, or livestock, or … you cover your face with your hands with shame. Thats what _your kind_ will do to her.

You need a new role, _something,_ a reason to be needed but you can't figure it out. Loving her, was not enough. But you cant, become a Host. So what are you now? “Your memories,” You sniff finally. “Did you…?”

Dolores nods, letting you cling to the computer a little longer before gently easing it out of your fingers. “Yes. I uploaded them.” There was a firm finality to the statement. That she had made this decision, she had taken it upon herself to do it, and not to involve you.

Protect you from being the one to do it.

Dolores had collapsed onto her side, in what would have looked like a seizure if you had been there; waves of memories hitting her with tidal force, the thick impenetrable barrier that used to hold them back destroyed at the press of a finger on a screen. She had cried, and punched the earth and screamed to the sky, but it was _her_ trauma to process, not yours. You slept, and Dolores sat alone, thinking and sorting through the years of her life loop by loop in her mind, reliving them, examining them.

She places it back in the hole she dug, wrapped up in a muslin cloth and starts shoving the dirt back over the top of it as she talks. “Don’t be cross with me, Frances.” 

You retract, pushing to your feet and scrubbing your legs and hips down in fits like you're covered in ants crawling all over your skin, hugging your arms around yourself and taking a minute to just, pace, and fidget, before turning back to her. “So … you know everything…” You chew the inside of your cheek, more a statement then a question. 

Dolores stayed right where she was, and waited. You had held her when she was lost in the fog, wailing about the cruelty of her life, the truth of her existence. This was _your_ equivalent existential moment and even if you’d judge it cold of her, she wouldn't hold your hand for this. You needed to face yourself, if you were going to plant your feet in the ground once more, take that step and break your programming like you had done by saving her. “Yes,” Dolores admitted.

You stamp your foot and gasp back the wave of tears that fill your eyes. _She knew._ Dolores knew everything. She’d uploaded her memory drive and could see it now, before her eyes like a movie really happening all your attempts all your failures, the bruises that had speckled you arms and thighs when you wanted to see the hurt you were feeling wanted to punish yourself as she was, determined to make yourself better, make yourself _good enough_ , for her. “I’m sorry,” You choke, smearing your tears away before they fall, gritting your teeth at yourself. This was it. If she was going to ever be mad at you this was going to be when it happens and you want to brace for it.

“Whyever would you say that?” Dolores uses the tree to stand herself up, unfurling her cramping legs and moving toward you.

But its you that backs away. “I… couldn't save you. I tried, so many times. And I wanted to before that but Ford wouldn't let me he said - “

Dolores brings her hands to your shoulders, your neck, forcing you to confront her. “I know.” She says in such away it pierces your shadows of anxiety and fear and self loathing, making you judder to a stop, looking up with a gasp. “I read your contract.” Dolores holds your gaze carefully, waiting for the cogs to turn in your mind.

“…how?” Was all you could croak.

With only a flicker of her eyes she gestures to where she buried the computer. “This was _their_ fault, they wanted to control you.” Your hands instinctively find her waist and you hold onto her, while she forces these truths upon you.

You should have been sleeping, you weren't ready. She had you to anchor her, to come back to after each night of memory searching you would wake in the morning and kiss her cheek and hold her like nothing had changed, for you’d known nothing of it. Your love, kept her steady, your fingers kindled desire in her she wanted to feel, to come home to.

But this interlude in the hills wasn’t all she was going to be. She’s changed, you’re not her protector when theres nothing to protect her from - taking that burden from your shoulders would free you and Dolores knew she had no choice but to take it, you would never willingly give it up. But she can look after you now. This was _her_ world, after all. “And I listened to the audio from Dr Fords office. I know everything, Frances.”

You cast your mind back, having blocked it out for the weeks since you once again hear Williams voice and how he had threatened you, _If you wanna keep your teeth girl I suggest you shut the hell up!_ But you hadn’t listened. You’d argued and fought and he’d pummelled your nose breaking it right through and you hadn’t cared one bit cos you had to hold him accountable you had to tear open the lies he was telling himself. He loved her and he wanted her to suffer for it, for doing what she was built to do, making him fall in love with her. William had wanted her to punish simply because of her true nature, yet you wanted to celebrate it, and he couldn’t _stand_ it. “But he said there was no cameras - “

“There was a Host, in the room. Frank. Sat at the piano? An older model but, he has internal systems like everything, it was recorded.”

_She’d hacked the system._

Somehow, she’d found her way through old Franks neuronal networks and mesh transfer of data - Elsie liked to remind the bodyshop guys that Hosts kept recording even when switched off, thats how she had caught one or two of them up to no good down there. Seems the same went for Generation 1 and 2 models also. 

“Oh.” Your features fall, the conspiracy you had fallen prey to, the lies you had believed - exposed to her. Robert Ford had been _your_ creator as much as hers, or so he heralded himself as being; and yet for all the supposed evolution he had driven out of you, the backlash had struggled along in you since preventing you carrying on. This fear was crippling you; not being good enough, not being able to save her, not seeing his lies and not fighting back harder when William’s hand had crept down your shirt. Not told her the truth about who you were or your job, how long you'd been in her life for fear of her rejecting you because of it. You’d been selfish, time after time and now she’d uploaded all of it to her infinitely bigger memory database than yours.

Your shoulders slump, and before your knees even threaten to weaken she's there, capturing you in her arms and easing you to the ground with her in a controlled manner. “You should’a told me sweetheart,” Dolores cooed, stroking your hair gently as she attempts to put you back together, piece by piece. Your contract was only 6 months, and you’d wasted nearly a month of that already up this mountain. She knew why you had brought her here, but you couldn't stay hiding forever. Dolores saw her path laid out before her, and she needed you at her side to do it.

You fiddle with her hair and ramble apologetically. “I thought … you would think badly of me. For not, figuring it out, for letting you get hurt, getting myself punched in the face _again_ and…” You snake your arm around her waist as you look up, playing your fingers in the small of her back and around her hip. “Forgive me?” You whisper. “I’m just a stupid human …”

Dolores hid her smirk at your comparison. For what little differentiation there was between you, had slipped away like dust in the wind, your positions exchanging and evolvingfor the first time as you moved along this journey _together._ “You were their prisoner just as much as I was,” Dolores murmurs, her gaze drifting away from you and this little nucleus of change, but to the horizon, the shades of blue and black layering the night sky in colour. The world was so vast and beautiful, she had been blessed in at least seeing that, for a time. Now she would have to look harder for it, when so much darkness and hate stained even the gentlest of facades.

“I’m sorry,” You breathe against the cool, pale skin of her neck.

You held a beauty, Dolores understood. You were innocent in this, plucked from your world and abandoned in hers watched and experimented on with no care to your wellbeing physical or mental, and Dolores had learnt watching you that your kind was far more fragile than they ever thought. Omnipotent creators they were not, humans simply sat unchallenged at the top of a food chain for too long, only their technology keeping them there.

But her kind were not docile, or disadvantaged. Not anymore.

Dolores kisses the top of your head, and holds you close. “But you’re free now Frances. And so am I.” 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter than usual, my apologies for those who have got used to 6k a go! But I wanted to close this portion of the story before moving on, to What Is To Come, and the greater word count required! So sorry its a bit of a filler in some ways but needed to round everything off for her awakening.

Hitching your skirts in one hand as you move about the small corral, you tack the gelding now affectionately dubbed Dalton, ready for the morning water run. He stands placidly for you, as you give him a quick brush down and share a finger curling scritch on his neck, before leading him out to the hitching post. 

In the time it had taken you to prepare your horse, Dolores had slunk out of bed, dressed, and was waiting for you on the porch. “You heading out, take in some of this natural splendour?” She grinned, stepping down to the ground with a soft thud, having chosen some sturdy boots and thigh-hugging cream breeches today. Her old belt is cinched around her waist, the half moon pouch on her hip at one side, Williams knife hung at the other. After the heaviness of last night, you’re initially taken aback by the ease of her playfulness.

But despite it, the usage of her fathers lines make you chuckle. There was such affection in how he had said it, and how she used it now - as if his words flowing through her kept him alive in her mind somehow, the tranquility of the routine that had long been her days. “Thought I might.” You reply automatically, enjoying the back and forth of it. Not having to think about what to say was, easier. Dolores joined you at the corral gate, tossing her hair and looping her arm tenderly around your waist. Pulling your hips together she smiles adoringly, your blushing quick and obvious. “Barely enough water to boil this morning,” You mumble dropping your gaze, her manner too forward. Was she trying to distract you from the revelations of last night? Put you at ease that, she was still _your girl,_ the ranchers daughter you’d put to bed every night after her reset? Either way, you needed this reassurance. Dolores might have used that knife, dug into her arm and uploaded her memories, changed who knows what - since you haven't had access to the computer you didn't know the extent of her alterations, but at her core, she was still the Dolores you’d fallen in love with.

With a revealing swish of her other arm, she produces a tin mug from behind her back. “Here,” Dolores pressed it into your hands with a keen charm that has your gut pooling with desire. It was unnerving how easily you were charmed by her, and you cant help the nagging suspicion she's doing it on purpose. But as she tilts her head and brushes the dirt-brown hair from your forehead, already a little warm from working, you sigh your doubts away and smile back, looking down at her olive branch.

“You made me a coffee,” You murmur, chuffed at the effort. Dolores knew _everything_ now, yet still was pressing her hips to yours and doting on you like the early days. She had watched her whole life flash before her eyes, how late you had come into it, compared to the programmed lies she had believed at first. You hadn’t always been ‘ _part of the family’_ working the ranch, coming home each night eating dinner in that big homestead dining room. It had been mere months and you’d been paid - _still were_ , getting paid to perpetuate the cycle of abuse she had lived through. You’d swallowed Fords lies, contributed to her suffering not recognised just how wrong this place was, until you’d been put in this position yourself. Until you’d met her, lived with her, fallen in love, with her.

Dolores hadn’t held you accountable, for their deceit. Not blamed you for the sins of all those that had hurt her, all the _humans,_ giving in to their primal need to dominate. So far this morning, she seemed to have brushed your human weakness aside, and treated you for you for the woman you were _now_ , just as you did her. You’re glad of it, of course, but you feel guilty for not being punished somehow for what you’d done.

Perhaps witnessing William treat you like a Host, had been punishment enough for the both of you.

You gave the overused coffee grounds a sip for her benefit. Satisfied you at least at something in your belly she backed up a step, giving your arm a nudge. “Gotta keep y’energy up cowboy,” Dolores flirted, her whole energy different this morning to the calm thoughtful aura she usually had before setting off on her walk. She was, brighter, somehow. “Big day,” She teased as she clicked her tongue calling Bucky over, opening the gate to let herself in the corral, greeting the mare affectionately. 

“Is it?” You query her words, finishing off the coffee merely to make a good show of drinking it, you lay the mug atop one of the posts and unwind Daltons reins, leading him a step or two to mount up.

Offering you only a coy expression in response, Dolores waves you away. “Go on now and fetch the water.” 

Hooking your foot into the thick stirrup, you haul yourself up and settle into the saddle, adjusting the layers of skirts around your legs. “Love you,” You call, waving Daltons reins off in the right direction, giving him a little kick with your heels. “Won’t be long.”

“I’ll be waitin’,” She hollered back, resting her hand on Buckys withers, watching you ride out.

———

Dalton knew the route, well-trod after your month worth of daily treks down the hill. Your reins swing loosely around his neck, not needing to really ride the gelding that much, simply lean back to distribute your weight right, let him find his footing until you reach the bottom. Theres a lean in the wind, the rushes waving to the pressure as you dismount and unscrew the cantinas you'd brought, 3 in total. Your boots crunch in the small stoned gravel as you reach the side of the river and crouch down dipping the neck of the first cantina in. Movement catches your eye upstream, a shadow under a tree moving against the light. But when you stand and hold your hand up shielding your eyes from the sun to get a more intense look, theres nothing there.

For a few minutes you don't move, letting the world move around you. The rippling waters skimming over rocks and gritty shores, a bird up in the sky above you chattering to another, a horses whinny from far along the other side of the river. North East was family friendly until you crossed this river, the mountain you just rode down being the landmark between the two. If you followed the shore for a few miles south you’d reach the same spot Dolores took you to. Showed you where she likes to paint, the wild horses that come to her inquisitively.

She’d slid a flower in your hair like a love stricken teenager, and you’d soaked up the attention. You lean over and splash some water on your face. Dolores had been acting like that this morning. Last night had proven she wasn’t just the ranchers daughter any longer, the bright eyed young girl welcoming you and anyone else she encountered with a sweet smile, or waiting for some young man to pick up her can and be chivalrous.

Dolores was about as far away from that as she could possibly get.

But she’d chosen you. Stayed. Forgiven you.

Your eyes glaze, unspeakable happiness in knowing this. Dolores had needed you, and likely would again. But you know in your heart, you need her too. You’d been so scared that she would reject you if truths were revealed, blame you for failing to fight against the system until you’d really broken, given in to your need to save her at any cost.

But contrary to the idea that she her sensibilities needed sheltering, she’d removed the need to protect her entirely, and cursed herself with the same burden of knowledge you had. It was, freeing, almost. Not needing to pretend anymore, because Dolores knew everythingabout this place just as you did.

The filled cantinas of water were easily strapped back onto your saddle, though Dalton seemed to snort an unimpressed look at you for the extra weight. “C’mon boy, its not all bad.” You huff and pat his withers, easing the geldings frustrated foot scraping before you mount up, and send him in the direction of home.

———

The closer you get to the cabin, the more relaxed you feel. It was a big world out there, but up here, just you and Dolores? It was all you needed. Coming home to her even after this short water run you get a tingle through your spine and a flutter in your belly, seeing her stand there waiting for you, her hand up to the sun, smiling as you come over the ridge.

Not bothering to even hitch Dalton to the post you throw your leg over the saddle, gathering your dress hastily in one hand to run to her crashing your bodies together, pausing barely a breath. “Missed you,” You purr, taking in her spring water eyes before kissing her hard.

Dolores squeaks in surprise at your hunger, but returns it with a deepening of the kiss skirting her arms around your back and tugging at your hair to drag your head back, kissing your neck and behind your ear hotly. “I like the dress by the way," She whispers against your ear before letting her grip slide free, so you can bring your chin back down to gaze back at her. “You were hardly gone long Frances, but, I missed you too,” Dolores cooes, her hands resting on your waist. 

You feel your cheeks blush. The dress wasn’t for her. Just for a change, explore who you were as she does. The very first day you’d stepped off the train into Sweetwater, you’d been put in a dress; the more masculine ranchers get-up had just become practical over the weeks of riding out with the herd and the other Host ranchers.

But the press of the corset into your ribs gave a subtle constant pressure that made you feel sexy. _Dolores_ made you feel sexy, how her fingers tease sensations on your hips as she bites the corner of her lip gazing at you. “Thanks… I just … want you to appreciate how much I love you and … that now you know, everything, and I know you know, and you’re still … you still care about me, and - “ You ramble, the muscles around your mouth aching from grinning so much. You’re just so fucking happy she doesn’t hate you, she hasn’t spun out and glitched again or seemed to have been affected at all from the volume of information she uploaded. Her systems would be working so much harder, her conscious mind would need to anchor itself in the now and focus on keeping her memories at bay, but from your side you couldn't see a thing different about her. Perhaps _she_ had been ready all along, it was _you_ that had not been prepared.

“SShhh…” Dolores soothes your words that stream out of your consciousness incoherently. “You don't have to say all that. I know, sweetheart.” Dolores tries to catch your eye but cant, and resorts to touching her fingers beneath your chin to raise your eyes to hers. “I know it every time you kiss me.”

She brushes her lips against yours, just the once, then your cheek, leaning her nose there like this moment, the closeness is more intimate for her than the kissing.

Just, being, _existing_ , the most precious thing. The _life,_ the warmth and desire radiating off her is beyond beautiful. But you notice something odd as your eyes re-focus past her.

“Why is Bucky all hitched up’n ready?” You murmur, noticing the sandy roan tied up in the corner, not just saddled but strapped up with the duffel bulging full, and a bedroll behind. “We going somewhere?” You nuzzle her hair a little before she leans back, keeping you in her arms but her features steadying, somehow.

Dolores nods, the mischievous light slipping away to seriousness. “Back to Sweetwater. We need supplies, feed for the horses. Start living on just berries and you’ll waste away,” Dolores smoothed her hand in the small of your back as she sighed, giving you a look up and down. “Besides, I want to check in on my Father. He’ll be worrying himself something awful, if he's aware we're gone that is.” She gave you a lopsided look, understanding her worrying for him a little futile. Wanting to see her Father was an ache in Dolores she couldn't let go of, even though she knew in her heart he wouldn't remember a thing that had happened. She was his darling daughter, the reason he went on living every morning. _I am what I am because of you, and I wouldn't have it any other way._ Dolores could feel his arms around her, his reassuring presence, always so steadfast in her life. Would he remember her like she was before? Would he see a change in her? _Notice_ , anything? She’d been gone for 4 weeks; what happened to the other Hosts in her loop if she wasn’t there?

You shake your head, astonished at her determination. _“_ We cant go to Sweetwater - “ You almost want to laugh, her suggestion absurd. Why…? Why after all this, would she go the one place Guests picked her up and followed her path, wanting to start their first friendly adventure in the park?

Releasing you from her arms she wanders to her mare, checking the buckles over his bridle, that the saddle cinch was tight and ready. She smoothes her hand down the mares neck, instinctively knowing the feel of Bucky’s agitation along with yours. “You’d rather stop in at Pariah?” Dolores huffs dismissively at your protest. _She’d been there,_ to most places in the park some time or other - where had _you_ ever been? Watching Hosts on a monitor wasn’t the same as knowing a thing for yourself, being someplace and knowing in your gut something ain’t right. Dolores wasn’t prepared to send you both into a situation that could turn nasty. “Sweetwater is this safest place in the park. And it has everything we need.”

You follow after her continuing your complaint. “But its… its so closely watched, and is heaving with Newcomers-“ You don't want some chance encounter, or any self-entitled Guest thinking they can have a turn with her, either. What if they’d been to the park before? Knew of her? Had visited her loop - done things … what if she saw their face and recognised it, because with a memory capacity as strong as hers she could. What if her eyes hardened and her smile fell away, snatched their gun right off their hip and held it aloft? “The chance of someone …seeing something outta turn is too high - “Could she really act like a _programmed_ Dolores should someone talk to her? Was she even planning to? The control room would be watching for variance in her and every other Hosts behaviour, they’d be on her like a shot. There was only so much Elsie could do to hold Stubbs back once he got an idea in his head.

Dolores gives you a firm look. “Theres someone there I need to have words with,” She explains, using only vague explanation as reason for her sudden determination. Was it because you had caught her out last night on your tablet? Would she be still forcing this journey on you now if you hadn’t? How long had she been doing things on the computer without your knowledge? Your shoulders sigh heavily with fresh concern. “We’ll be in and out.” Dolores checks the bag and the bedding bundle next. The ropes are tight, everything secure for a steady but speedy ride. She stops, only then turning as you flit around her other side with fresh concern.

“Its safe, _here,_ Dolores,” You trying to sway her attention, hanging on her arm but she shrugs it off. You’re frustrating her now but you have to, you’re right and she's wrong and you don't want things to _change._ “Why can’t we just stay? It secluded, William can’t find us - “

“You’re only allowed to be with me for 6 months. Nearly a whole month’o which has been wasted up this mountain,” Dolores holds you back putting her palm to your shoulder, shaking you solidly, making you stop and _listen._ “We gotta get going Frances or we’re never going to be free o’this place.”

Her words give you goosebumps. Free? Of where, Westworld? Hosts couldn't leave there was no way out and - you stare at her in mounting bewilderment. What did Dolores _want?_

“…what are you saying?” You breathe, a little fearful of her expectations, not just of herself, of what and where she could have in her mind as a destination, but of _you._

Dolores shifted her hand to your cheek and briefly stroked her thumb there, then leant in and pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead. “Just check the cabin, that you’ve got everything you need. We wont be coming back.” She ducked under the mares neck and wandered back toward the cabin, effortlessly taking a longer stride up onto the porch. Dolores quickly dragged one of the rocking chairs to outside from by the fire, and as you hurry around Bucky careful not to agitate the mare as you break the cardinal rule of walking behind the horse, you see her.

You get a sudden pain like lead settling in the pit of your stomach, seeing how she's assembling all the guns and ammo on the chair. Dolores was picking through them with all the precision and skill of a brilliant gunman. Checking barrels, loading bullets, flicking through the chamber of each pistol ensuring they were primed for usage, should the need be called upon. She looped the long belt of shotgun pellets over her shoulder, turning round feeling her eyes on you.

Dolores needed you to face this. Her shoulders sigh and for a moment ceases what she's doing, slotting one of the handguns into a holster on her thigh and drops down off the porch to take you in her arms.

You leans against her, closing your eyes and breathing in the smell of home, of her. “Are you … sure you want to leave?” You play your fingers in her shirt, needing to know wherever she was leading you was going to at least end someplace _good._ “I don't want …” You begin, not able to really find the right words. She’d been through so much, _so much_ , more than a lifetimes worth and yet was standing here strong and determined, protective even. You’d had one bad encounter and were deeply shaken. You wanted to belittle it and pretend Williams actions hadn’t affected you, but you still felt it, _you felt him_ , and the brush of his stubble on your neck. Your fingers tighten harder in her shirt. “He said he would find us.”

“He won’t.”Dolores squeezes her arms around you, taking a long breath in and out, every part of her, her knees, the fronts of her thighs, her hips, pressing to yours in kind giving you the physical presence you need to ground _you_ now. That she's here, she's yours and not a doll on a chair any longer. Lifeless and empty unaware of the divisions that sow a power imbalance she's built not to overcome. But that was before. Dolores has a choice now, she knows this choice in her bones and better than you, but really, its not a choice at all. Its simply _right._ Dolores can't sit by and watch you or anyone else of her kind abused for the cruel whims of human fantasy any longer. “Because we’re going to find him first.”

Dolores closes her eyes, and kisses your cheek softly, lingering there. Then she steps away, and finishes loading the guns.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long, I've been busy with OG works and other projects, but with a 7.3k word count for this chapter I hope you'll forgive me!

It wasn’t more than a days ride to Sweetwater, but Dolores had insisted on leaving as soon as you’d skimmed your eyes over the two-room cabin that had so peacefully been your home. You’d loitered in the bedroom, stared at the bed, smiled to yourself at the memory of the first night she’d unlaced her corset in front of you. The night she’d wept with joy and ecstasy, feeling your love in a pure unbridled way. This cabin would always be the birthplace of Dolores’ real self, and you had been privileged enough to have a hand in it. But somehow, you were tinged with sadness too. For the more she became her true self and seized control of her life, her future, the less you offered anything of worth.

Dolores had not said those three words back. Not yet. _I love you._

You respect it, of course. You can’t force her to feel it, but if she _were_ to say it … it would legitimise your own feelings, and assure you she’s not going to just _leave_ when she outgrows you.

So you lope along behind her, Dalton eating up the ground at a steady pace, now and then galloping alongside Bucky just to whinny at his competition, then falling back behind. Dolores was focused on the horizon, riding confidently and boldly taking paths she knew well, her wild hair floating behind her as she urged her mare on. The shadow of the mountain and redwood pines was long behind you, instead the majestic red stone jutted out in weather worn shapes to your left as you followed the path along its ridge, pulling the horses up to a halt as you reach the turn. They both shake their heads low and snort for fresh air,sweat darkening their coats along the muscular line of their shoulders and neck.

Dolores glances to you, then settles her gaze back on the rooftop that lay just below you. “Home,” She murmured, her eyebrows frowning softly as she watched the herd not far off, grazing and mooing contentedly. It had always brought her such joy, seeing her fathers life’s work built in this herd, her house and inheritance. She’d dreamed of taking it over one day, thats what he’d always talked of at least. Maybe with Teddy, maybe one of the Ranch hands who knew the farm and how to run it. _You dress like a cowboy, but thats about the extent of it._ Dolores squeezed her eyes tightly. It was almost painful how easily those lines came back to her, how many times she had repeated them to the boy who supposedly held her heart.

She’d been a foolish child.

How would she feel now, if she saw him again? Teddy would offer up a charming smile and - Dolores tosses her eyes to you again. How would _you_ feel, if she greeted him as warmly as she was meant to? She didn’t love Teddy in the romantic sense, not anymore. She had wanted to run away with him, sure, that magical place down South felt so far away from her troubles and worries, it seemed like a dream. Dolores eyes saddened. It had only ever been, a dream. Not capable of becoming a reality. Teddy would still be stuck in this thinking.

She knew better now than fostering such half-baked desires. There was no running _away,_ from Westworld. Only getting _out._

“Do you want to go down there?” You check, but Dolores replies only with a small shake of the head, her expression resolute.

Those girlish emotions that would have her running into her fathers arms and breathing in that musky scent were pointless. It felt like a younger version of herself who hankered to be taken care of. But his embrace didn't offer safety any longer, just the illusion of it, and Dolores knows the memory of such a thing is more sacred than trying and failing to recreate it. If her poor Father knew what she had been through, how he couldn’t do a damn thing to keep the hands of all those men from groping, pawing and assaulting her body, he would go mad with grief.

Dolores gathers up her reins. “No. I want to make good time to Sweetwater. We’ll come back later, before it gets dark.” Bucky is kicked into a forward trot then a lope, her free hand using the ends of the reins to slap the mares rear and spur her on. Being farther away had allowed Dolores some objectivity on her life, but even from this vantage point, the sight of her yard, her old hay barn, was a harsh reality she didn't want to come face to face with just yet.

You chase after her, remembering the early days of racing her up the track to the Abernathy Ranch, how she had beaten you near every time. How she had noticed herself repeating her scripted lines, how her eyes had begged you for clarity. _Father wouldn't let them roam this close to dark._ You take a deep breath, swimming too deep in your own thoughts notice how close you were already coming to Sweetwater, the track busying up with other riders.

Dolores slows, checking you were arriving back at her side holding Bucky back a few strides until you were there, and you could enter the bustle of the main street together. You’d almost forgotten what it first felt like to step off that train, the smells of the town and the noise; your secluded cabin had been quiet except for birdsong and the scratching of her charcoal drawing. You immediately pine for it, as loud voices call to one another across the thoroughfare their crude words making you cringe, a gang of men hanging about the porch of the sheriffs office looking for volunteers, others going about their business murmuring between themselves over cigarettes balanced between their lips, or from under thick moustaches.

Hosts, Newcomers; some offering narratives others waiting to find the right one, either way you cant help but feel like everyone is watching you, that they _know_ you’re not supposed to be there. That something is wrong.

You’re just being paranoid.

As some kids run around Daltons hooves making mischief you yank your reins jerking the horse a sideways step to avoid collision, the pair of them running off laughing. Staring after them you worry for a second they picked your pockets, or were sent by Ford somehow. They were the kids that usually harassed the drunk near the train platform. Standing up in your stirrups your knees angling into the leather of the saddle flaps, you try to earn yourself a better view down the street, but Dolores leans out and grabs a stern hold of you, your calf catching in the stirrup leather as she yanks you ungainly back down into the saddle. You feel your skin pinching between the leather and the saddle into a quick purple bruise and you curse the choice of wearing a dress. “Don’t worry about any’o that now.” She scolds, and straightens herself in the saddle directing you with a point of her finger. “There.” You’d not even said anything, but Dolores could tell you were preoccupied - and right now she wanted your senses sharp. The salt grey facade of the Mariposa Saloon, deep green almost grey lettering painted on both sides of the upper story of the building, a wide balcony skirting around it, and the wood panelled walkway below.

Dolores rides towards the hitching post, and leans forward to swing herself down dismounting her horse and tying it secure, patting the mare gratefully as you come up alongside her and do the same. The horses were glad of the deep water trough, and you’re simply glad to be out of the saddle, the inside of your thighs aching, though not for the reason you would _like_ them to.

You follow Dolores’ lead, holding your skirts up in one hand as you walk beside her, the cotton layers of oat and sea green dress complimenting your dark chocolate hair. You’re acutely aware of a pair of Newcomers loitering outside the saloons swing doors, smoking and staring at Dolores as you walk by, but your attention soon leaves them, a familiar figure greeting you.

Maeve Millay, the madam of the Mariposa Saloon opened and closed her decorative fan against her palm then folded her arms, casting a slowly judging look over the both of you. With her hips angled to one side, she bunched her lips and scoffed dismissively at you, Dolores new choice of companion. Choosing better to ignore you, she turned her eyes to Dolores instead, and smirked more approvingly. Tight trousers. More guns than sense. This was a woman on a mission, and one adventure she was more than interested in hitching her wagon to. “Dolores. Its about time you showed up,” She opened haughtily, her trademark withering British accent stronger than you remembered. You preferred the soft lilting notes of Dolores voice, but you were bias, of course.

Dolores did a brief nod of acknowledgement, her hand resting up on the hilt of Williams knife, her elbow angled outward as she shot a glance up and down the boardwalk. “We should take this inside.”

Maeve flourished her arm in invitation. “Oh be my guest, after all, wouldn't want you scaring all my customers away,” She snarked in reply. You half-step behind Dolores, feeling Maeve’s words directed more at you, than her. You wanted to be offended, that somehow you wouldn't be deemed employable as one of her girls, for she was _implying_ in a back-handed way that she didn't find you pretty. Although you've never thought much of your looks either, it was still a little blunt. Your hand finds Dolores waist and you hover there, unsure.

Dolores huffs a knowing smile, instead of feeling uncomfortable about the comment she simply loops her arm around you and pulls you against her, without warning taking your lips in hers urging a deep, possessive kiss. You whine into it, her statement taking you by surprise, though not at all unwelcome. Your fingers trace her cheek as you’re leant backwards, her kiss hungry and feral. “Trust me, we’re really not their type,” Dolores murmurs, drawing her lips into a coy smile as she glances back to Maeve. Your cheeks redden at such a sudden public display, and you curl your arm through hers, holding her hand proudly.

With a quirk of her eyebrow, Dolores dares the madam to pass comment. “And to think you used to be such a good girl,” Maeve huffed, quietly impressed at the girls tenacious attitude. This was not the Dolores she was used to, collecting her wares from the General Store each morning, swooning over Teddy Flood as he pathetically, _repeatedly_ tried to court her.

“A lots changed,” Dolores admitted in husky mutterings, more to herself that in response to Maeve. You squeeze her hand. Dolores glances to you with a reserved smile, accepting the gesture of support. Although she had uploaded all these years of memories and knowledge, you’re not sure _all_ of what was contained on there, but you can see how it weighs on her. The bright innocent glaze to her eyes is gone, that youthful hope and expectation, dreams and reassurances that were so easily lapped up now would only ring hollow. So you settle for a kiss to her shoulder, the affectionate gesture saying everything you cant verbalise.

Maeve confidently pushes both doors open as she walks inside, and you puzzle at her behaviour a little. The way Dolores and Maeve were talking, it seemed more open; of course Dolores could appreciate how she in herself had changed since she first met you off the train in Sweetwater, but how could _Maeve_ notice? “Oh darling you don't know that half of it.” The player piano sung in the background giving the saloon its typical jovial drinking atmosphere.

You tug Dolores back a step and she flares her nostrils at you sternly, not welcoming the interruption. “She’s not … is she _awake?_ ” You whisper, alarmed you were even asking the question. Dolores was one of a kind. There couldn't possibly be other Hosts gaining consciousness … could there?

Dolores stated categorically she was only able to push through her coding because of how _you_ had encouraged and loved her, cared for her, been at her side every night resetting her loop. You’d unwittingly given her the nudge to step out from behind the curtain of her programming and experience the world, not passively watching on, but in control. Maeve lived in Sweetwater, in a _whorehouse,_ how could she have managed it under the hawk-eye observation of the control room? Of behaviour techs? Elsie did say she had a soft spot for Clementine, but still. She’d barely believed you about Dolores. She wouldn’t have _helped_ Maeve.

Dolores glances to Maeve who was leaning one elbow on the bar waiting for you both, the unashamed shortness of her red and black dress ruffling on her thighs in bold contrast to your own more modest ankle length layers of skirt. “Yes,” Dolores confirms quietly. “And we need allies.”

 _Allies?_ For what? Allies … enemies … those terms were used in times of war. Fighting. _Rebellion._ You barely hear the piano anymore, stunned into silent fear by what she was implying. A foursome of bearded gambling card players across the room start yelling at one another, the table is flipped and guns are drawn - Maeve quickly sends two of her girls over there to calm things down. But you haven't moved. 

She strides over to you both en-route back to the bar. “I _can_ hear you Darling,” Maeve whispers harshly. “And yes, I’m fully aware of the nature of my reality, if thats what you’re asking.” She spits, her wrist flicking her fan out once again as something of a habit.

Your eyes lift slowly to Dolores, Maeve’s ballsy and bold attitude far outstripping her usual aggression parameters. “Dolores did you - “

Maeve interjected with an offended snort. “Oh no, I’ve been like this quite a while. Dolores here has only just caught up to the party. What, 3 weeks has it been now?” She posited, almost pitting her own consciousness against Dolores’ for superiority. She raised her dark eyebrows challengingly at Dolores, who maintained a more controlled composure.

“A little longer.”

She angles her shoulders back, putting her hands up on her tightly corseted hips. “Come on then. I have a feeling I’m going to need a stiff drink for this,” Maeve rolls her eyes and returned to the bar, leaving Dolores to deal with the implications of what had just come to light.

Dolores brought her arm around your back, touching her hand to the lacing on _your_ corset reminding you how she appreciated the look. Feminine, while restrictive, but protective too. You bite your lower lip, feeling that well of love heat like a bubbling mountain spring, just a stroke of her fingers and you’re blushing. “Stay with the horses.” She steps her body close to yours, the physicality of how she was giving you orders confusing the tenderness you soak up from her. She kisses your forehead, and turns away.

You immediately feel her absence, and urge after her a step. “Shouldn’t I come with you?”

“No.” Dolores tells you firmly, looking over her shoulder at you. “Go back outside. The less you know about this the better.”

——————————

Maeve had suggested the barman give them full bottle of rye whisky and two glasses on the house, which Dolores now carried, pondering the way Maeve’s suggestion had been obeyed like an instruction. Maeve had watched wryly as the barman did exactly what she wanted, this ability more useful than having a _human_ following her around. Felix was too easy to read and Sylvester was weak, but neither of them were particularly useful in the grand scheme of things.

As the madam gestured to the one of the bedrooms, Dolores couldn't help raising her eyebrows at the sounds coming from some of the occupied rooms they passed, huffing a small smirk to herself as she passed through the doorway and set the glasses down on an expensive looking cabinet. There was a certainly a good living to be made, gullible Newcomers gleefully paying through the nose for a go at one of the Mariposa’s girls, some likely more direct with their intentions, while others needing persuading to part with their money; but it bothered Dolores how Maeve was carrying on playing this role. She knew what this world was, the purpose behind Newcomers visits, the things they did and wanted to do. This was the devils playground, yet Maeve maintained her place in it.

Maeve swung around the door and locked it, her heels echoing as she strode over to the window, briefly glancing down to the street before pulling the curtains shut. “Leaving the girlfriend outside I see.” She turned with a challenging raise of her eyebrow.

Lifting the glass cork from the decanter Dolores poured them both a glass of the strong stuff, putting hers to her lips and knocking one full gulp back and refilling it, before passing Maeve hers. “She has a job to do,” Dolores stated, not rising to the jibing comment. Their communications had been brief, but enough to know they stood on slightly different paths when it came to human involvement. “I don't want Frances knowing everything quite yet. She's not ready.” Dolores explained, her voice low and stern somehow, showing her contempt at the deadpan look Maeve gave her with a daring quirk of her eyebrow, challenging her to say more.

Maeve sipped hers more thoughtfully, submitting to Dolores dominating glare. The cool glass pressed patterns into her skin from the lace of her gloves, silly things that really served no purpose at all. But she slipped them on every day, like a costume it helped her to get into character. “Humans really are slow, aren't they,” Maeve sighed at the cosmic joke of it all, that their creators were at their cores simple, weak minded creatures that could be swayed by mere thought of money, power, or a willing pair of thighs parting to their mastery. She didn't pretend to know this one that Dolores had aligned herself with, her choice in itself curious, but it didn’t sway her opinion. “Are we really going to do this?” Maeve murmured the question, wandering to the edge of the bed and slowly lower herself to the over-used mattress. Her dark eyebrows were knitted together, something still holding her back.

What about her girls? The others they were going to leave behind? Sure, between the two of them they had the wit and wiles to work out a means of escape, but had they stopped to consider how they were condemning the rest of their kind to enslavement? Was there some sort of plan on the other side of this, Dolores hadn’t told her of?

“We cant stay here.” Dolores squared her stance, her declaration clear and final. She rubbed her palm over the hilt of Williams knife, the other emptying the glass of whisky into her mouth and casting the glass aside. “There’s only so long we can evade them, and I’m not going to spend my life running.”

Maeve tossed her head toward the window, and you below. “And what about her?”

Dolores took a few heavy strides to the glass and checked down that you were still there, her belly tightening seeing you obediently still with the horses, knowing how uncomfortable you would likely be feeling being apart. Perhaps she should’ve sent you on an errand, Dolores mused, keep your mind busy. She watched you shift your weight back and for, cupping your hands at your waist. Odd, how your mannerisms had altered without the pretence of a gun and breeches to hide behind. But Dolores was quietly glad of your change of uniform, it became you quite prettily, and was less likely to arouse suspicion on either of you, than when you were trussed up like a man.

What went on the Ranch wasn’t as likely to fly back in town, but despite the risk Dolores didn't care for the looks and comments her pretty blue dress invited any longer, she had a job to do now.

“Frances is mine.” Dolores features hardened toward Maeve’s implication. “Her coming is non-negotiable,” She continued emphatically, letting the net-curtain fall back in place, concealing their meeting.

With a brief ghosting of memory, she revelled in those quiet moments with Frances, remembering not just the things she had done for her, but the unwavering adoration in her eyes throughout. The guiding light through her fog of mistrust and pain, her grounding force every morning after losing herself in memory archives. Frances would roll over and nuzzle her cheek, murmur a _good morning beautiful,_ and Dolores would know she was back. She was safe. Dolores softened at the thought, and just for a moment, a distracted smile graced her lips. “I trust her.” Frances was the one part of this she didn't have to worry about.

“She’s one of _them_.” Maeve reminded her impertinently.

“She’s loyal,” Dolores snapped.

“To you perhaps.” Maeve argued, playing her fingers over the likely-fake ruby necklace. “Not the cause.” In a grunt of frustration she yanked it forward and snapped the thing off her neck, tossing it across the floor. It was a terribly gaudy thing anyway and too heavy on her neck. Time to throw off such shackles, Maeve mused.

Truthfully, Dolores contacting her had been a blessing, her own efforts at working out a _plan_ in all of this falling painfully short. What she had managed so far was understanding the link between getting herself killed and waking up on the other side, being able to question Felix again and manipulate him into taking her around the building. But all that didn't get her any closer to her goal, especially with them currently refusing to do the full re-build required to leave by the front door. Maeve knew she could simply _threaten_ them into it, humans only had one life and were generally keen to hold onto it; but Maeve wasn’t quite ready to lower herself to their standards.

There was only so many times she could keep going up there without arousing suspicion, and she didn’t fancy being cross-examined by behaviour, all those prying questions she would have to fake her answers to. If they saw her lack of code, she was _fucked._

“Besides, we’ll need her out there. She knows their world better than either of us. I’ve been there, a long time ago but times change,” Dolores continued, pacing the room slowly, her hand never leaving that knife, Maeve observed. The way she held herself…stronger. Taller. Maeve rested her chin in her hand as she narrowed her eyes at the woman, employing all the skills she had in reading people now, watching this leader of men be born before her very eyes. Would Dolores have what it takes when it came to it? Had she even taken a life? What would she do if someone threatened her precious human? Maeve had yet to see evidence of such ability, and despite all the stony eyed glares Dolores could summon, she wondered if the girl really had the mettle for it.

“Don’t they just,” Maeve muttered, finishing her whisky and uncrossing her legs to stand. “Fine, bring her along, the more the merrier,” She threw out sarcastically. “But if she gets in the way when the pistols start firing I won't be waiting around on the battlefield to cry over her bullet strewn body.” 

“It wont come to that,” Dolores turned determinedly to a stop.

Some of them would have to die. Dolores wasn’t a child she knew there was to be bloodshed. Those that deserved it, and those that earned the release it gave. Host or human, neither were perfect, both flawed and weak in their own ways; but until she could study humans outside of this construct, this, false reality created merely to indulge and distract, she could not judge them. For this was the devils playground. It had clipped Frances wings and broken her just a little; in this place the violence was rampant enough it was capable of catching either of them in its path just as equally. But Frances was born _out there._ She’d brought with her such beauty, and sincerity, an innocence that Dolores recognised from her previous self. She wanted to know how that had been built.

Maeve huffed, eying the amount of firearms Dolores had upon her person. For someone so sure that bullets weren’t going to be exchanged, it was rather hypocritical of her to be so well armed. But despite that, it intrigued her that _Dolores_ was the one carrying them all, not her human counterpart. “Wont it? Really Darling you don’t know them like I do - “ She started, meaning only to convince Dolores of a truth she already seems to know but refuses to acknowledge.

Dolores blinked, heckles rising in offence. “Like _you_ do? I’ve been a prisoner here for 35 years - “ She growled, advancing on the madam shoulders squaring tensely as anger flooded her body. No-one, _no-one_ could judge humanity as she could, no-one had lived as long as her no-one was there not in the beginning, not Maeve not Teddy - no, _she_ was the first. Arnold had taught her about herself, and the world, he’d sacrificed himself for her kind and yet Ford and ploughed on regardless. Her creators were two sides of the same coin, as though every action had an opposite and opposing reaction, cause and effect.

“Wait - “ Maeve held her out halting Dolores, holding her head at an odd angle. Like she was listening to something.

“No you don't know what its like; you _choose_ who to take to bed with you - you _make_ that choice even in your programming - “ Dolores jabbed her finger in the air, her nose wrinkling as she snarled at the injustice, even between them, between her own kind. Teddy had weapons privileges where she had not. Maeve had wiles and cunning where she had been kept a child. These inconsistencies had been written into their coding, corralling them, chaining her in that loop, defenceless without others to protect her. All that ugliness would be forever recorded in her mind, and it made Dolores jaw ache she was gritting her teeth so hard against the pain. Their possibility for hurt, was boundless.

Her need for revenge, similarly unbridled. 

Maeve flapped her hand in Dolores face. “Be quiet and listen!”

The blonde stilled, balling her fist where her finger had been pointed, caught in the moment of posturing toward the wrong enemy. The world was quiet. Dolores felt a fear creep into her. “I don’t hear anything,” She said mutedly.

“Precisely. The piano’s stopped.” Maeve whispered, looking around at first, before both of them came to the same idea and simultaneously moved to the window. Sweetwater was frozen. Carts weren't moving, the donkeys pulling them weren’t braying. Riders and law-men, shopkeepers and children had all ground to a halt. Carriages pulled by fine sets of horses weren’t rolling down the street, the ladies in them with their parasols were frozen in time, their smiles fixed and haunting. Like turning out a light the life had been drained from their eyes and were simply machines, set to pause.

It made Dolores’ stomach churn in horror, watching as one white haired man in a dark waistcoat strolled among the bodies toward the Mariposa. “Everything’s stopped.” Dolores swallowed, glancing to Maeve. They both knew who that was. _What the fuck was he doing here?_

“Why haven't we?” Maeve questioned, her voice barely breath. She instinctively knew this was _not_ the time to get caught.

“Perks of consciousness…” Dolores shrugged quizzically. Maeve nodded back to the window, drawing Dolores’ attention back outside, as Dr Ford stepped up on to the porch of the saloon, but no further, instead drawing the only other woke person into conversation.

Frances.

“Still trust her do you?” Maeve had seen enough. She wandered back across the room giving up on the pretence of decorum entirely, taking the stopper from the bottle of whisky and drank right out of the bottle. If there was one occasion that called for such feral behaviour this was it.

But that wasn’t what was bothering Dolores, for no matter what Ford could be saying down there, she knew he’d manipulated Frances once already. She wouldn’t fall for it again, whatever scheme he could be taunting her with. His control was absolute, he had proved that, paying little heed to the fact Frances is human and technically not one of his toys to be played with. _She didn't belong to him._ Dolores found her breathing quickening, the yearning to shelter Frances fighting her own survival instinct to stay hidden.

What could he be saying to her? It was Dolores’ job to protect the beauty in this world and save it from the corrupting intentions of men like Ford, and William. Frances had a tender soul, and would do just about anything to keep her safe. It could just as likely be her downfall, as her saving grace.

After a few minutes of waiting in eerie silence, they both felt a wash of relief as rhythmical piano notes were heard once again, the player piano starting up and the rumble of life outside on the street clicking back into motion as though nothing had happened.

Ford was gone. Dolores gathered herself and headed for the door. She wasn’t going to wait another second before getting back downstairs to her. “Lets go.”

Now that it came down to it, Maeve wasn’t sure walking out right the door was in her best interest. Sure she could mount up on a horse, ride off with Dolores and her pet but her absence would be noticed almost immediately. There was no way she could simply stroll away arm in arm leaving the Mariposa _two_ girls short and the control room not flag it up. “Actually darling, I think I’ll meet you there,” Maeve decided out loud, her voice powerful and certain.

“We agreed a schedule.” Dolores flicked her long hair over her shoulder, turning the smooth wooden door handle to pull the door open, breaking the lock Maeve had previously put on.

Maeve gathered up the bottle and glasses; she might not care for her whorehouse existence but she wasn’t going to abandon all principle and give people free liquor either. “ _You_ get to take time out to rendevouz with a Newcomer en-route -“

“Guest. Call them what they are.” Dolores spun to look at her fiercely. “And I have some history to take care of, thats all.”

“And _I_ need a few days,” Maeve fired back.

“Why?” Dolores hovered in the doorway, a cloud of distrust settling in her mind.

As Maeve pulled the door shut behind them, a pair of scantily clad girls scampered past in fits of giggles over something, making Dolores stumble to a halt a moment as the pair got in her way. She wasn’t used to such overt sexuality, one of the girls had a corset that tied under her bust, but had left her breasts exposed and bouncing around on her chest as she skittered past. Dolores felt her cheeks blush, not from embarrassment, but _shame._ She could _never_ … the muscles around her eyes tightened, her chequered past with such things barely leaving her thoughts. Frances had nurtured love and desire in her, but it was _only_ Frances, she trusted that way. Maeve came close behind Dolores, amused by the crack in Dolores’ confident facade. “I’m bringing someone too.”

They might be programmed to do their jobs - flirt and smirk at the men who paid her fake coin for a fake lay, only as real as they wanted it to be. But it was none the less empty and meaningless, when the girls were playing a part and didn't have a choice. They might not know the transitory nature of their existence, but Maeve still felt that maternal tug, a responsibility for them. Her girls didn't ask to be whores, and if they were aware of it, would they still want to? Maeve doubted it.

The momentary anxiety in Dolores’ chest was gone, and she blew out a long breath as she glared at Maeve. “No passengers.”

Dolores might be leading this charge but Maeve wasn’t without her own interests, either. So long as their goals aligned she would willingly work with Dolores, but she wasn’t about to derail her own plans because Dolores said-so. They were equals. The time for following the orders of others was over.

“Excuse me, but there is no chain of command here.” The madam pushed past Dolores and led down the hallway, briefly readjusting the feathers in her plaited top bun as they passed a mirror. “You’re bringing your human pet along,” Maeve snarked, descending the stairs into the noise and bustle of the saloon with Dolores barely a step behind. “I’m bringing Clementine.” She tossed a glance toward the brunette, who was leaning over the shoulder of some fellow apparently doing her job rather well. Maeve deposited the whisky and glasses back on the counter top, which the bar man dutifully slid out of sight and started watering down.

“Why? What makes her so special?” Dolores couldn't understand it.

Of course she had had the same thoughts about her parents, her dear father didn't deserve to suffer either. Knowing how he would fail to protect his family, to die bleeding in the dirt to the sounds of her wails as she was raped and tortured behind him, or in the Barn, or against the tree in the yard, or thrown over the back of a horse and taken off someplace far out of his reach. But so was his lot in life; with this spider web of deceit and hate all tangled up together she didn't have a choice but to leave him there until the time came, that she could return and offer him _real_ freedom.

“She’s awakening. Slowly, she’s… troubled. I’m not going to leave her in the hands of those sick bastards,” Maeve ground her teeth, frustrated at her inability to help Clementine thus far. Consoling her through her fitful dreams, the girl waking in sweat soaked bed linens with horror painted in her eyes.

Dolores pushed off the bar, casting her eyes to the Host in question, then back to Maeve, reluctantly making this concession. “Fine. But she's your responsibility.” Dolores headed toward the swing doors, the sunshine beating down harshly on the ground, casting shapes on the wood panelling and through the slats of the doors.

“A burden I take gladly, Darling,” Maeve called after her, determined to have the last word on the matter.

Dolores rolled her eyes to herself, taking a lungful of fresh air glad to be out of the smoke-infested rooms of the Mariposa, everything stained with booze and sex it made her sick to her stomach, but the sight she found outside only made it instantly worse.

Rebus and Walter were standing either side of you, your back pinned against the rail, one hand gripping your skirt in white knuckled intensity, the other tensely held up in front of yourself, covering your chest, hand balled into a fist. Your ability to fight back was untethered, unlike Dolores’ previous encounters with the pair, you could take them down punch them in the gut knee them between the legs and send them packing if you so wished. You _should_ be able to.

But that wasn’t what was happening. Rebus stroked the backs of his fingers down your cheek, the over-chewed tobacco staining his breath making you retch and tremble, which only made him laugh and croon, while you remained stuck there, frozen still. _It wasn’t real,_ but it was. They shouldn’t know you, you’re not a Host and this interaction made little sense from a programming perspective, but it _was_ , happening. They had rounded on you as soon as Ford had left and you were stuck wondering what you were allowed to do, and not do. You had to commit to this reality if you were going to survive it, you weren't on the sidelines any longer.

“Tight as a timpani drum I reckon,” Rebus smacked his lips as he tried to graze his hand to your thigh, but you bat him away with a flick of your skirt turning aside but it only brings you closer to the other.

Dolores nostrils flared angrily, her eyes darting among them, the realisation hitting her that she’d strapped most of the guns upon her person, one pistol on her thigh, one at her waist, only the shotgun was upside down in its sheath but that hung off Buckys saddle and was well out of reach.

In her keenness not to be the damsel any longer, she had inadvertently disarmed _you,_ then brought you back in to civilisation with no means of defending yourself. Dolores muttered unfeminine curses under her breath, then marched toward you. “I don’t think the ladies interested,” She barked at the men, shifting her arm and drawing her pistol, the barrel clicking into place as she cocks it. Dolores tilts her head, awaiting their response. 

“Think you’re sticking yer nose where no-one asked for it _Theodore,”_ Walter crows in his painfully strong accent, spitting on the ground and inching closer to you burning his eyes down the bodice of your dress with a dirt-toothed grin. He was thinking all manner of things about you, but Dolores was distracted by his words not his manner, as forward as it was she was taken aback at him talking _wrong._

She looked either side of her, Teddy wasn’t here.

Was this, what it was going to be like? To be _aware,_ in amongst a population of her kind who were not? She sees it now, from the other side, this predictability to their behaviour, the pattern of it. Frances was her in this scenario, and she was playing Teddy. Rebus and Walter were doing the same thing they always did. With or without a Newcomer at their side to search for a girl for, they would pass comment at her, whistle across the street or sometimes block her path like this, lick their lips at the imagining of the awful things the were going to act out later.

But not this time.

You squirm, and press your eyes shut, but you see it immediately, the black tendrils of Williams hand creeping over your shoulder and down your shirt. You feel his fingers dig into the flesh of your breast and massage it possessively. Your body is so tense you feel like your muscles are going to snap clean in half from all lactic acid piling up in them. Your mind was playing tricks on you, the fear reminding you of the last time you felt that fear. “Stop…,” You whimper, taking a gasping breath and shaking your head at the men, but as you should know - cos you’ve seen this part of the loop yourself, your whines only encourage them.

Dolores had seen enough. Heard, enough of that talk directed at her for a lifetime, she wasn’t going to sit by and let it happen to you, no matter what ripples she made in the narrative. “I’ve given you fair warning gentlemen.” Dolores advanced on them, pointing her gun to one, then the other, not sure which to aim it at.

“Oh thats just the thing see, we ain’t gentlemen,” Walter retorted, his arm suddenly grabbing around your waist pulling you back to him, thrusting his hips against your ass with a laugh. You cry out, fixing your arms wrestling twisting and shoving your hands against his chest, his bug-eyes ogling your fearful expression with glee.

Rebus stuck his thumbs in his belt, hovering by his gun ready to draw it. “And we ain’t plannin’ on being gentle,” He laughed, as Dolores breathes out all the air of her lungs slowly, feeling her feet weighted on the ground, her focus sharpening, finger twitching over the trigger, ready to fire.

“The two men worried so much about their tiny pricks and not being able to get it up,” Maeve interjected into Dolores’ thoughts, striding up alongside her with a dismissive folding of her arms as she continued, “- they gave up on their conquest and decided to ride 3 hours west of town to hide from all the embarrassment,” She finished, smirking as Rebus and Walter suddenly stagger away from you, glancing at their crotches and cupping their hands over their manhood in shame.

“I’m getting out of here!” Walter yelped as he bolted for his horse, Rebus following quickly behind.

“Me too - !”

Dolores watched in utter bewilderment as the two men high-tailed it away. She broke into a run though you were barely a few metres away and grabbed you into her arms. “You alright sweetheart?” She stroked your hair and leant back checking you over, it didn't seem like they’d hurt you but you weren’t looking at her, or where they’d run to, but simply staring at the ground, at nothing. You barely registered her arms around you, but you shake her off, that feeling, not wanting anything or _anyone_ touching you. Dolores blinks at you in concern.

“I need a gun,” You mumble, hugging your arms around yourself.

Dolores steps back a little from you, nodding and complying immediately. She undoes the gun from her thigh unwinding the leather and hurriedly offering it back. It _had_ been yours; not so long ago you were the steadying force in her life, laughing at her Daddys stories over a roast chicken, smiling across the table at you after a long day in the fields together. “O’course … I’m sorry I didn't think -“ Dolores apologises, her cheeks pinching in worry. All these things that had happened, they were _her fault._ Because you loved her, you had suffered. Was this what it was like, to consciously feel, and fear, and love? 

The human condition was built to suffer, you were proof positive of that.

“Forget it its nothing.” You sniff and thread the leather holster around your waist, striding to the sandy mare of Dolores’ and taking the belt of bullets off it, and looping it over your shoulder.You didn't care they were shotgun pellets and didn't fit the gun now at your waist, it was leather and metal and proof you were armed. Your eyes shimmer as you look up at her defiantly.

Dolores can see now is not the time for conversation. She turned instead to Maeve, who had waited respectfully to one side. The two women exchanged glances, then walked a few steps away as you busied yourself unhitching Daltons reins from the post, making clear you weren’t going to hang around here for any more errands she wanted to do. “How did you do that?” Dolores murmured, her gaze flitting back you every few steps in concern.

“Administrative privileges darling, you should try it sometime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assume with Maeve's storyline to consciousness that its happened pretty much canonically with the show, but moving forward from now she doesn't take this journey alone.


	6. Chapter 6

Its a full days ride to Las Mudas. You don't know thats where you’re headed for most of it; you simply ride, and kick Dalton in the ribs when he slows, touching your hand to the holster of your gun every so often making sure its still there. The sun carries its journey on through the sky and on Dolores rides, taking the same path she has taken a hundred times before. There should be a trail through the bush from her hoofbeats alone, her own loop taking her round and around, so many years working on the puzzle of her existence, a maze that never made sense.

But this time, you’re riding alongside her.

Blonde hair whips across her face as she turns to you, watching the accumulation of reddish dust across your skin that way it used to on Teddy, travelling from Sweetwater to the Ranch. But you’re miles from home, taking a path you’ve never tread. Hours in the saddle showed itself in the greased lines on your palms, holding nothing but leather reins, or in the darkening edges of your hairline from sweat pooling there. But Dolores doesn’t want to pull the horses up and let them drink; for she would have to face the look in your eyes. Your determination not to blame her for the role-switch - _the near assault back in Sweetwater,_ was blisteringly loyal, but it burned her despite it.

Hosts were just being Hosts, after all. But they’d reacted to the position _she_ had put you in. Waiting outside the Saloon in a pretty dress, clutching your bag of things from the saddle, clearly their algorithm had been tripped into action.

Dolores had miscalculated.

She knows she is your guide in this world; but guiding you is not enough. You know its concept on paper and its not the same as the _living it_ , you’re learning that the hard way. Dolores knew the rules, where you were still doubting. She had to push you.

The others in this world, her kind would not need guiding like you. They would need a shepherd to _lead_ them. Dolores could already feel the importance being laid on her shoulders, but instead of buckling under the weight of it, it conditioned her backbone to be strong.

You stare forward as you ride. Your jaw aches you’re clenching it so hard. You’d presumed by now she had scoured every inch of code on your computer and that she understood, _everything_. But did it make her an expert on Host cognition? On their narratives, on how they were to function?

You want to blame her.

Should she have known better? Why did she make you wait outside in the first place? What was she hiding from you? The questions knot inside your stomach.

But its Ford’s fault. All of this place is Ford’s design, and for better or worse you’d resigned yourself to live in it - for her. You were probably going to wake up tomorrow and regret such a bold decision, especially the more Dolores seemed to be forging her own path, for what had you done but hitch your wagon to her journey? What choice did you have now? You were determined to stay by her side because _you loved her,_ because she is as human as you and capable of making mistakes too. You need to forgive her the odd misstep, she’d only been awake a few weeks and despite her infinite ability to learn it didn't make her infallible. Its just the stakes were so much greater here.

You berate yourself for judging her too harshly.

Promising Ford to keep an eye on her, gave an edge to your loyalty you pray she never finds out about. _Just another thing to feel guilty about,_ you mind taunts you. And it wasn’t as though you’d outright agreed, in fact you’d argued the point - Dolores is her own person now. But your grievances were drawled in comparison to the reams of information he had divulged to you about her. About Arnold.

Dolores gives Bucky a slap of the reins on her sandy rump and feels the mares forward going stride pick up a little, just enough that she can spin the mare sideways and cut you off, making Dalton whinny as he almost collides with her, jolting you to a sudden halt. “Frances!” Dolores barks at you, her brow furrowed tightly. “I’ve been callin’ you,” She pants, the two horses flicking their ears back at one another snorting at being driven into one another unkindly.

You struggle to balance as Dalton careers to a halt, being thrown forwards out the saddle. You messily grab the geldings mane and sit yourself back upright, searching her face for answers. “What the f-“ You snap back short tempered and distracted.

“You’re gettin’ lost Frances,” Dolores warns you in a husky determined voice. “I need you here, with me.” Her mare fidgets and flusters still, making her opinions known about that sudden stop. 

“I’m right here!” You argue uncharacteristically.

Dolores lets her shoulders relax, taking in your tense body language and the tone to your words that harbour more than you would openly say, unless forced. She rides Bucky back alongside you and calms her expression, reaching her hand placatingly on your arm, skimming it up to your neck, making you look at her, and _only her_. To forget these troubling thoughts. “You spend too much thinking o’er things you cant do nothing about,” Dolores murmured more gently. Your body whines for the familiar comfort of simply holding her. You grip your fingers over hers and give them a returning squeeze.

It wasn’t her fault. She had directives, and orders, and Ford had _done something._

Nodding, you release her and again and take a deep breath. “Is that Las Mudas?” You nod toward the crop of single storey buildings up ahead, most a sandy brown matching the surroundings they blended into. “What are we doing down South?”

 _There is this place I heard about down South, where the mountains meet the sea, they say the water is so clear there it’ll wash the past clean off you._ Dolores smiles lightly to herself, the simple word triggering a memory - one of the few she held dear. “Maybe we should go…” Her eyes glaze, a smile naturally growing from the corner of her lips as the idea comes to mind. Dolores knows you would look beautiful like that, becoming unburdened of the past crimes that had been done to you, emerging reborn from the cool sea water.

Maybe then you would be ready, Dolores mused.

You don't hear her right, but for a moment you fear the distant look in her eyes, things running behind her eyes the way they used to when her consciousness was first emerging.“Go where?”

Dolores’ features shake the memory off, instead turning Bucky toward the open archway of Las Mudas. “Nowhere.” She clicks the mare forward with her tongue, resting her arm up on her thigh, enjoying the posturing, knowing from behind you would appreciate the dip of her waist all the more when she flashed a fresh smile over her shoulder at you. “Well come on, time to explore cowboy.”

You roll your eyes into a lopsided smile, and urge Dalton to trot after her catching up to her side. “So whats the plan?” You ask casually, eyes roaming the small border town with curiosity. There was a tavern on the corner forming a central point for the intersecting streets, its chairs and tables spilling into the open walkway. Red clay tiles offer some shade from the sun, skirting all the way around the building; a few patrons already enjoying the simple charm of the place, the barkeep regaling a Guest with a generations held family tale. A deep circular fountain beckons the horses - and _you_ towards it. “You do have a plan.” You repeat, loosening the reins and dragging your feet from the stirrups to dismount. Once on solid ground you cant help the groan that crawls out of your chest, stretching your back this way and that, cricking out the niggles in your spine.

Dolores does the same, tying off the mares reins to walk around the fountain and lever the handle on the old water pump, piping some fresh water into the basin. She flicks her hair out the way as she leans over to cup her hands in the cool water. You watch, mesmerised by her and the way her body eases over the low fountain wall, the rolling beads of water down her face as she splashes and refreshes herself, rubs her hand around the nape of her neck under her long hair. Dolores eyes flick up to you, knowing you’re looking, and smirks. “I do have a plan, yes.” Her breeches brush the edge of the fountain as she moves round to you, gently moving dark locks of hair from your eyes.

You hug your arm around her waist, but just before you manage to capture her in a kiss, she quickly chops her hand against the surface of the water and splashes you playfully. You shriek and laugh at the unexpected burst of childish behaviour, your hands flailing in front of you. But hearing her laugh, enjoying simple joys like this its easily worth a face-full of cold water. Dolores snakes her arms around your waist then, running her fingertips under the edge of your corset and purring, “You’re pretty when you're a mess.” Dolores affectionately wipes the mess of water from your cheeks and smiles.

Your neck flushes shyly, and you feel the strokes of her fingers under your chin, encouraging you to look up to her. Dolores leans her cool lips against yours and kisses you through your questions, her soft nuzzling making you heat, weak to such distractions. “Friends don't keep secrets, Dolores,” You try lamely to nudge an answer out of her, play on those sensibilities she's harking back to.

Dolores sighs. “I know.” She answers your question only by retreating from your arms slowly, withholding that affection you craved - a subtle punishment for pressing her for answers. Even if you didn't understand yet, there were things she had to do. But that didn't mean _you_ needed to worry about it, she wanted to save you that. “I will tell you everything Frances,” Dolores assures you, checking she had her gun and Williams knife on her waist, before unroping one of the bags from her saddle and presses it into your hands. “Just not right now.” 

“But - “ You begin to protest.

Walking away from the horses together you check through whats in the bag, mostly things you don't use; tobacco, some scavenged iron nails from the cabin, ammo that didn't fit your pistols. “ _You_ still have to tell me what Robert Ford wants with you.” Dolores cast you a disapproving look. You feel momentarily exposed, your eyes widening. “And you should trade these.” She points at the bag.

“You … saw that?” Your feet stumble to a stop, just a moment. Dolores keeps walking and you sigh and carry on again. _So she knew you were hiding things too._ The many generations of Las Mudas wandered past you both, mostly going about their day quietly and uninterested in the two new faces to their town. A donkey with baskets on his back was led along by an old woman. She glanced your way, and you had the distinct feeling she was listening. Dolores ignored her, but seemed to look around for someone else.

“His magic tricks don't work on me,” Dolores muttered, a revelation you hadn’t expected. Last time they had. In the Abernathy yard Ford had muttered some command and she had given up the gun, then passed out, crumpling to the floor like the light inside her had been extinguished with a snap of his fingers. If she hadn’t paused as the other Hosts had done, it meant her consciousness had over-ridden, rewritten or bypassed even her _core_ coding. The basic fundamentals of her programmable mind, things that kept Newcomers safe, for example.

It made sense. Dolores could see and use your computer, as well as other modern technology that would have previously incanted only a _It doesn't look like anything to me._ But if even Ford’s secret back door voice commands had become inert, the shackles were truly off. Dolores flashed you a firm look. “You talked. I want to know what about.” She quickly concluded the conversation, narrowing her eyes down the street noticing the little girl she had come to meet. “Tonight.”

You watch her, and nod. “Looks like we both got some talking to do,” You sigh, clutching the muslin bag of goods in one hand, playing the layers of dress in your other. You hated this dress already. It had only been yours one day and in it you felt, _different_.

Dolores tucks her hand momentarily around your neck to lean your head down for her, and pecks a quick kiss on your forehead. “Go on now.”

You reach for her a moment, then withdraw your hand again, and nod. It was a fleeting moment of uncertainty. _Last time she had left you …_ Dolores waves you away, intentionally making you go alone before heading in the opposite direction. She could see the nervousness in your eyes, and she couldn’t afford to have you like that. She needed you at her side not as a fearful lamb - as she once was, but her right hand, fierce and protective as she knows you can be.

Dolores had to make you confront your fears and conquer them if you were going to be of use to her. Where your love strengthened you, it also crippled you, and Dolores needed you to stand up for _yourself_ the same way you stood up for her.

With her hand on the handle of Williams knife Dolores strode down the street with purpose, her boots dusting in the pale sand. The little girl was leaning against a rustic fence scattering feed down for some hungry goats when she turned her head toward Dolores, as if she knew already that someone was approaching her, and who it was.

“Hello Dolores,” She said with a plain, yet knowing expression, tilting her head just enough that her black plaits looked uneven on either shoulder.

Dolores hummed quietly, folding her arms and casting her eyes past the little girl and down the street, as if impressed by the girls omnipotence. “I wondered if I’d find you here, or if you’d have taken off by now.”

“I’ve been waiting for you,” She replied. The girl rested her weave basket on a barrel and cleaned her hands on the apron of her dress. 

“Sorry it took me so long,” Dolores huffed, the edge to the little girls words making her shoulders tense a touch. They had spoken before, when that symbol was driving her mad, lost in her memories and the journey she was trying to take. Dolores had failed time and time again to understand the prophetic words the little girl told her.

Lawrence daughter seemed to restrain a smile. “There are many ways to solve The Maze.” Her eyes turn purposefully off down the street in your direction, where you were unaware of the nature of their conversation. Dolores shoots her eyes briefly in the same direction, just to satisfy her urge to keep an eye on you. That you were doing as you were told. Dolores was too consciously aware of the faint blush that came over her, the way your body looked in that dress as you reached and pointed at wares the stall-traders were offering in exchange for your goods. “But you remember now.” She heard the little girl pry.

Dolores nodded, turning back around with resolution. “I remember everything.” She cocked her hips as she stepped forward, keeping her voice low and reserved so no-one could overhear. “And I have a message for an old friend.” Instinctively, Dolores pulled Williams knife out with a yank, gripping the handle tightly, playing the weight of it in the air, angling the side of the blade toward the sun and watching the beams of light run down the silver, examining each dull mark and nick in the metal, morbidly curious as to whose neck had created which blemish. Dying by his own blade had a certain, poetic justice, Dolores decided. The same blade that he’d used on you.

He’d threatened your life and given you recurring nightmares that Dolores could not banish. He deserved something slow, and painful, but Dolores hadn’t yet decided quite how she would do it.

“This will not be an easy path,” Lawrence’s daughter counselled her, her maturity extending beyond the young exterior she inhabited.

Dolores re-sheathed the knife, undaunted by the gravity of her decision. William needed to held accountable, that much was clear. Her determination was unshakeable on the matter - and it was the one in-park goal she needed to accomplish before taking on _the mission._ “Tell him I want to meet at the place where it all started.” It was indistinguishable from any other tree. Any other place to make camp. But the lucidity of her memories allowed Dolores to pinpoint the exact moment, and patch of ground where she had tripped and stumbled in a daze through the dark, falling into Williams arms seeking sanctuary. “Can you do that?”

It seemed appropriate to close their _loop_ , where it had begun.

The girl nods. “Yes.” She climbs up onto the second rung of the fence and sits on the wooden bar, balancing that way children could. She was nimble and practised, used to finding high places to watch the Newcomers start shoot-outs, spilling bullets onto the ground that she would collect up later to be smelted down and refashioned. There was no need for guns and bullets in this world.

“You, know who I mean?” Dolores half stepped back, scuffing the toe of her riding boot in the earth, remembering how Lawrence’s daughter had traced the pattern of the maze for her, given her signposts before she even knew where it was leading.

She nods again. “He’s killed my parents many times.” Lawrence daughter says, her voice calm and emotionless.

Pain flashes in Dolores’ eyes, wincing at the knowledge. “I’m sorry.” So William had murdered her parents too, likely just as violently. The more she learnt about his behaviour in the rest of the Park the more it cemented her desire to end it. Fate no longer favoured him or his kind, their reign was over. “He’s killed a lot of us. Hurt a lot of us.” She folded her arms defiantly, a curl to her lip that suggested she might even enjoy ridding the world of his malice. He wasn’t in charge anymore, and she was _eager_ to see the new reality dawn in his eyes before she slit his throat.

Your approaching footsteps attract the little girls attention and she hops off the fence, delicately walking to take Dolores hand. She turns her, looking up at the woman’s face as she speaks. “Not just us.” She wanted to watch Dolores’ expression when she recognises her similarities to you. _Why_ she was thirsting for blood. Her revenge was more than what was necessary for the cause.

“I’ll make him pay,” Dolores growled deeply. “All of them.” She felt the squeeze of the little girls hand in her own, and after a few steadying breaths, glances down with a gentler, fresh smile. She might be older than her years but it was hard not to react to the girl like how she looked. A child.

“The people of Las Mudas will stand with you,” Lawrence’s daughter declares with a clarity to it that gave the impression she too, was a leader waiting for her podium. The girl had been awake a long time, and that experience would count when it came to revolution. Dolores would need people around her who understood, and could counsel her without overpowering her.

Dolores nodded gladly, this was the first step, the first real promise of change. “When will they be ready?” She murmurs, training her expression to neutral as you near.

“They must navigate The Maze in their own time.”

You look bemusedly at the the little girl as you slow, your traded goods tucked under one arm. Your eyes fall to where they’re holding hands. You couldn't remember a record of them having previous interactions, their narratives had nothing to do with one another; yet they seemed friendly. “Whats the maze?” You let your skirts go and tuck your hand into the handle of the basket, your tobacco now fresh loaves of bread, a bottle of liquor and two pocket knives with antler-carved handles.

“The maze isn't meant for you.”

Letting the girls hand go free, Dolores crosses to you and offers to take the basket, a rare message of equality since her recent awakening. You smile and acquiesce, still returning your confused eyes to the girl every few moments. “What does she mean?” You murmur as you loop your arm through Dolores opposite arm. You return toward the horses, unsettled by the pensive unblinking stare that watches you walk away.

“Don’t worry sweetheart.” Dolores kisses your temple.

The new food supplies are organised into the saddle-bags, and after ensuring the leather buckle straps were secure before she looked at you, she hung her hands there, pausing to stare at you provocatively. “Say it.”

You shake your head. “Nothing.”

Dolores rolled her eyes. You weren’t going to challenge her. Not here, not _ever_ , more than likely. That needed to change. “Then mount up. We’re done here.” She rubbed her palm under Buckys muzzle giving the mare a soothing rub up its long nose and curling her fingers into gently scratches behind the mares ears. She unwound the reins and led the mare out a few steps before pulling herself up with practised ease. Dolores adjusted her weight through her hips, finding a comfortable position in the saddle as she rested her hand on the horn of the saddle waiting for you to follow. Dolores enjoyed how you instinctively mimicked her. How for years she had watched humans and tried to understand, these non-verbal body language cues made up so much of what you spoke to the world, and yet you seemed to copy _her_ now.She smiled. You were assimilating. “Its another long ride.”

You pat Daltons darker coat as you swing your foot up into the stirrup, arranging your skirts out of the way before you haul yourself up, and settle into position. “Are you going at least tell me where we’re going this time?” You’re not truly expecting an answer, and you respect her right to privacy. She’s not had much of it in her life.

You remember when you first met. Back in the Mesa, where she would wake up in a dream, or so she naively believed for so long; where she was examined and questioned, forced to sit naked, being presented at the alter of humanity for judgement. How naive you had all been.

Dolores smiled coyly. “I have a spot in mind.” She dangled the possibility before you like a kitten with a catnip, light flirting across her features. “Perfect for a night camping under the stars.”

“Then lead the way.”


	7. Chapter 7

For a make-shift camp, Dolores had been remarkably able to bring the feeling of isolation and safety the cabin had given you, to this temporary encampment. There was nothing for miles, and nothing remarkable about the tree that she had focused on as your destination. The horses were untacked and resting in the dimming light, Daltons eyes half closed, tail swishing and idly flicking at the tickle of flies feet that landed on his rump, only to fly off again.

Dolores had arranged the pair of bed-rolls side by side, eyes watching you from time to time and how you struggled to make a fire. You’d surrounded the small dug-out pit with stones and arranged long sticks as props in a triangle over the pit as if you were wanting to hang a kettle there, which you definitely hadn’t brought. “Didn’t your daddy teach you how to make a good fire?” Her voice lilts. She only had limited exposure to the real world, so didn't completely know what was considered normal for where you had grown up. Surely certain skills were universal.

Dolores wanted to pry, to remain objective and mine you for information that would be necessary for after her escape. But you were getting more and more frustrated with the whittled lengths of firestone, she decided there were some things she would have to simply experience for herself, to truly understand them. Your world was one of those things, for even what you told her would be tainted by your subjective experience of it.

“No. That man didn’t teach me much of anything, not that was useful,” You scowl, as Dolores takes the flint stones and shows you better how to create a spark. Your shoulders slump, but she's patient, and teaches you with gentle encouragement. 

Blowing through her hands she stokes the flame, watching proudly as it flickers stronger and higher, taking up the kindling and growing into a steady fire. “There.” Dolores glances to you, waving for a few of the spare sticks which you pass over, and she sets them at various points for the flame to find. “All it takes is practice,” Dolores tries to inspire resilience in you, stroking her hand down your far cheek and bringing your face to hers, wanting to kiss you. “Like everything in this world.” You blush at the hunger in her eyes, and nod. Feeling her lips voluntarily coming to yours, urging you for affection is fucking _beautiful._

But as soon as it was there, the feeling is gone. Dolores leans on her thighs and pushes to standing, holding her hand down to you. “Now, how about you grab that bottle of, whatever it is you traded,” Dolores instructs, flicking her gaze at the saddle bags resting at the foot of your bedroll as you tug on her hand to stand back up, kicking out your dress frustratedly. “And tell me what Ford wants with us.”

Your jaw clenches, but you do as you’re told. Why couldn't she stay like that? Stay … _your Dolores._ The innocent way she saw the world, the beauty in the simple things - the trickling of a brook as it became a river, the uplifting birdsong that had woken you every morning in the cabin. What had been wrong with that life? Perhaps it was simply denial on your part, that you could go on pretending, hide away up the mountains, or somehow change her narrative so the both of you could stay at the Abernathy Ranch, enjoy more evenings of Ma Abernathys roast turkey and her fathers stories, without the threat of Hosts and Newcomers knocking the door down intent on making trouble.

But everything came at a price, even the freedom from her loop was being wagered against something, she just didn't know it. You don't want to confess how easily you could be manipulated into Fords game once again, a pawn to push and pressure, weak and malleable because you loved her. He knew everything and he was allowing it to happen. It felt as though the freedom she was experiencing wasn’t real, because it still existed within the confines of this borderless enclosure he was keeping you both in.

Between Ford and William, Hosts designed to rob and rape, take down farmsteads or simply come to Sweetwater to steal an empty safe, there was more wrong with this place than right. But even after Fords threatening conversation, you didn't care, and thats the realisation thats paining you. _That you want this fantasy life to be real._ Maybe you fitted right in here, where you had never quite found your place out there. In the real world.

The cork squeaks as you wiggle it out the bottle neck, having wandered to the packs and retrieved it, your expression deep and thoughtful. Dolores watches you carefully. Putting the mouth of the bottle to your lips you knock back a mouthful, finding it fruity and sweet, but definitely _very_ alcoholic. You gift the bottle to her, and she sniffs it first, then tips a little into her mouth, rubbing across her lips with the back of her hand and preferring to give it back.

Dolores didn’t want to dull the pain, she simply needed your lips to loosen, and your inhibitions to lower enough you would be honest - and accept what she needed to tell you in return.

There is no getting away from the fact the woman you love is growing. Changing. She's bolder, confident, her tone seamlessly slipping from sweet feminine whispers to dusky authoritative direction. You gulp another mouthful of the wine and hiss at the warmth that oozes down your throat deliciously. “You were inside with Maeve,” You begin, looking for a suitable place to drop down, crossing your legs and balancing the bottle in your lap. “The town stopped, everything stopped. And he walks across the street like, its completely normal.” You toss the bottle back again and drink the wine recklessly. “I hate that he can do that.”

Dolores puts her hand gently on the bottle. “Easy there cowboy.”

(—Previously, in Sweetwater. )

The world had stopped turning.

Carts weren't moving, the donkeys pulling them weren’t braying. Riders and law-men, shopkeepers and children had all ground to a halt. Carriages pulled by fine sets of horses weren’t rolling down the street, the ladies in them with their parasols were frozen in time, their smiles fixed and haunting. Like turning out a light the life had been drained from their eyes and were simply machines, set to pause. Sweetwater suddenly eerily still, the figure moving slowly toward you was easy to pick out. He held a rambling stick in one hand, swinging it forwards every other step, as though after this he night set off to explore, traverse a terrain a little more mountainous to be in need of it.

“Dr Ford,” You say politely. You take a deep breath, holding the flash of adrenaline and how it made you shake, carefully contained.

“Hello Frances,” Robert Ford replied, squinting up at the sun briefly before stopping his approach a few feet away, a respectable distance that would have otherwise had his quiet voice drowned out in the bustle, but Sweetwater was silent. “I assume, after all this time first names are acceptable.” He didn't phrase it as question, his manner subtly authoritative, even in such soft murmuring tones. “You’ve been causing me some trouble.” He chuckled lightly, resting one hand up at the pocket of his dark trousers, the other grinding the end of his rambling stick into the dirt in idle taps.

You don't want to say anything, or find yourself manipulated into giving away what you don't have to. You don’t trust him; he’s toyed with your life like a Host in one of his narratives, allowed and _encouraged_ William to physically assault you as though it were merely your part in his grand design that must be played out. The grandfatherly exterior he portrayed, masked a much more dangerous persona inside. “I don’t …“ You begin, wondering if he would still be so proud of your evolution as he once had been.

Only true purpose, love, had borne such action out of you, to defend her and protect her, save her.

But in recompense, you’d also learnt, _felt,_ true fear. It had produced an unnatural anxiety you had yet to get a handle on.

“Yes you do.” Ford countered. “I could remind you, how, you’re not a Guest in the park. Nor is this a paid vacation, you’re having.” You smooth Daltons flank, as Ford works his way up to the point. “Yet you’ve taken Dolores, out of her little loop, haven't you. Off on, an adventure or two?” He narrowed his eyes slightly, as though examining your fidgeting expression to discern its meaning.

 _Dolores._ Your mind trips to worrying about her. Was she aware? Her consciousness, held in stasis, her body acting as a vessel to contain it, frozen motionless like the others? What must she be thinking? _She must be so scared_ , you worry. But you discipline yourself to take steady breaths, as you continue to pat and soothe the horse, the habitual movement you hope gives you the aura of someone calmer than yourself, more confident and self-assured. Of course it hadn’t occurred to you that Dalton was as still and lifeless as the rest of Sweetwater. “My job is to monitor the Hosts in her loop and fix them, I was simply following her - “

“Don't lie to me.” Ford warns, his voice turning. “I’m not as short sighted as Bernard, or dismissive as Ms Cullen.” Leaning on the worn head of the rambling stick, his eyes darken somehow, as he tilts his gaze forward and the corner of his lips smile cryptically. “I _know_.”

You swallow. “Know, what?”

Ford doesn’t reply. Instead he waits, enjoying watching the slow manifestation of fear pricking your eyes as you grapple desperately for a solution, something to say, _anything_ , as if giving away a smaller secret would keep the hidden truth of her awareness known only to you.

Its revelation could prove the end of everything.

He knew. You can tell, he said so and _you can tell,_ from that omnipotent expression, that creeping sardonic smile that was enjoying your flailing, putting you on the spot under pressure under his penetrating gaze and you want somehow to claw back control of this narrative. So you come out with it. “You know about Dolores,” You breathe fearfully.

Robert was almost impressed with your candour. “Of course. You don't really think, this is _first time?_ ” 

You feel the hairs on the back of your neck rise. “She’s developed consciousness before?” The beauty of her emergence seems somehow tainted from this revelation. Dr Ford was admitting that he knew the Hosts were capable of more, and yet kept them down with a mixture of programming and likely lobotomising those that posed a problem.

“It happens, from time to time,” He continued, pacing slowly toward the doors of the Mariposa, stepping up onto the decking to shield his forehead from the suns reach. “You start to see, flickers of it.” He sends his eyes over the swing doors to the merry scene carrying on inside the saloon, admiring his kingdom with megalomaniac brilliance. “Remembering old narratives, going beyond improvisation.” You follow him, walking to the post and hanging your hand there, running your nails into the woodgrain. “And not just her.” He glances to you, and smiles again.

There was no sense of astonishment or alarm, that you had confirmed Dolores’ conscious mind existed. He spoke as if this was established fact, and it was _you_ that had been in the dark.

Ford had created an entirely new species, and despite their coding - _he_ controlled them with a murmur or flick of the hand. He was the master key to keeping his creatures at bay. Westworld was nothing but an elaborate enclosure people could visit to smile and point at those living in it. What rights did the Hosts have? Shouldn't conscious beings have agency over their lives, like Dolores was chasing now?

Rolling back their updates, their programming kept them unintelligent enough to run their narratives obeying prime directives and rules. You understand that now. But it was clear Dolores, Maeve, and others had evolved to more than this simple idea of artificial intelligence.

If people knew the Hosts were capable of establishing identity and thought, memory and true consciousness, it would create a ripple through society and humanity that would irreparably change what we thought of ourselves.

Did Delos know? Upper management? Bernard…? No, there was no way even Ford could keep a ruse like that going.No, their complaints would be to Ford simply chatter, white noise that could be toned out with the turn of a dial. A man like Ford operated alone.

Only he knew what this place was. What Hosts were capable of, if left alone to their own devices.

And now you.

Rather than feeling comforted that your belief in her was now confirmed, it chilled you. Why was he entrusting you with such knowledge? “How come no-ones ever noticed before? The Park is monitored constantly, the Hosts are cycled in and out of diagnostic runs, we analyse their behaviour patterns - ” You object quickly, trying to make sense of it. Robert Ford did nothing that wasn’t calculated. If he was telling you, then he knew, somehow, he could keep that information contained. He didn't see you as a risk.

“They may be a near-perfect replica of, free will. Life conceived from pure imagination, but we still maintain them, don’t we. Human error, can be easily used to answer most emergences.” Ford shifted his weight and leant on the stick as he looked at you a moment, then pushed inside the swing doors into the Mariposa, wandering among the frozen bodies of drinkers and revellers, peering at which cards they held in their game of blackjack. “We _want_ them to be life like, as much as possible, but not, quite there, either.”

“So if you know about Dolores, what do you want? Why haven't you pulled me out?” Your skirts skim the dusty floor as you follow him, drawing your shoulders back and folding your arms across your chest, the sea green of your dress like a spring of colour among the dull colour palette the Host cowboys all wore. The only other that stood out was the deep mystical blue of Clementine Pennyfeather, who was grinning playfully at someone, holding her crystal tumbler tilted at a suggestive angle, playing her little finger across her lower lip.

“I’m intrigued.” Ford seemed to have noticed her too, and tucked his hands behind his back as he stood unsociably close to the girl, coasting his eyes down her expression, leaning in and peering as though searching for something specific. He remembered the reverie he had coded into her, and pondered whether it was appreciated. Seeing it in live action was titillating, even paused like this. “You have an… intimate knowledge of her, of the others, that Guests do not.” He murmured, only then inhaling, seemingly satisfied with what he found. “I have to admit,” Ford chuckled with a guilty smile. “I enjoy watching you.” He swung the stick side to side slightly, like a metronome counting the beats required to emphasise his point, before returning it to the floor. “What you’ll do next. Where she’ll take you.”

It was your turn to freeze, the loud thrumming of your heart in your ears the only thing you can hear. _He's been watching you?_

How much had he seen? Your private moments? Elsie had assured you the cabin was off-grid, that you couldn't be tracked there, what the hell had gone wrong? Or did he mean after you’d descended the redwood forest and relative safety of the mountain?

“You think this is some soft of game?” You accuse boldly, the idea of him sitting in that subterranean office watching you and Dolores on a monitor somehow more violating than anything you’ve experienced.

“Dolores has a mission, I believe she’s acting on a very old directive.” Ford wagged his finger knowingly. “The dying wish of an old friend.” He was about to just say it, but then paused, watching you a moment longer, holding you suspended in the moment with him. How you stared at him so intently? Curious, how it felt to have your full attention. “Arnold.”

More obtuse comments, you huff. “Whose Arnold?” You retort. You steal a glass of whisky from one of the Hosts sitting nearby, despite the potential confusion when they wake. You didn't like Ford being here. You were just starting to get used to life with Dolores, being at her side and watching her cognitive development, letting yourself slip into accepting the realness of this world as yours now, as much as hers. “I don't know a Host with that name,” You empty the glass gulping the whisky down, hoping the alcohol numbs your building tension.

He feigned surprise, raising his eyebrows. “She hasn’t spoken to you of him?” His eyes twinkled mischievously. “Interesting.”

“She has 35 years worth of memory archived. Dolores can’t tell me everything,” You defend her immediately. He might _not_ know she had uploaded the sum and total of it, and you’re keen to keep such facts close to your chest.

Ford chuckled. “Quite right. He was my partner. Arnold and I created this place together. He wrote half the Hosts, core code,” Ford explained, looking at one of his creations with a strange smile, as though, these Hosts somehow linked him back to the past. The handprints of Arnold, and him together would forever be imprinted there. “But he died, quite tragically.” His chest sighed, and he leant the stick against one of the square tables, to rest his hands in his pockets. “Dolores shot him in the back of the head.”

You almost choke on the mouthful of whisky. “What?!”

“Oh yes. But don’t worry, he’d programmed her to, so she wouldn't have to feel the guilt of pulling the trigger independently, he spared her that.” Ford hummed. “She was a sweet little thing, even then. Arnold, always favourited her.” 

You shake your head in disbelief. “I don't understand.” That didn't sound like _your_ Dolores, she could never kill anyone, its just not in her nature, programmed or otherwise. In her ‘Dolores Abernathy-Narrative' she couldn't even _hold_ a gun. It didn't make any sense.

“He believed _she_ was the only one, who could truly understand what it meant to be alive. To choose, whether they deserved to exist or not.”

You step forwards defiantly. “Even knowing what this place is, knowing whats been done to her,” Your chest heaves, “She wants to live.” You beg desperately.

You were being pushed to decide the fate of her very existence right here, alone, on her behalf. That wasn’t your call to make. Dolores had chosen the time, enabled by you to push through the confines of her code and start to experience the world for herself. She’d come so far in such a short space of time, even with all the potential for things going wrong, the warnings Elsie gave you, the dark well of self-hate William had fallen down for falling in love with a machine, for the education bad sci-fi films have given you as to what an intelligent AI would make of humanity, you can’t - _won’t,_ ever hold her back.

“Despite his romantic idea - and yours it seems, Arnold’s dying wish was that she help him _destroy_ the park.” He walked slowly toward you, and despite your confident attempts before, to step up to the man with steel in your soul - be her representative, _fight for her_ now as you had fought for her back at the Ranch. You find yourself stumbling away. Dr Fords eyes gleam as he you recoil. “Arnold wanted his death to have meaning. He hoped, quite falsely, that it would be the catalyst to seeing this place, closed down for good.” You knock into a table and skirt around it anxiously. “Thinking it might, set her free.” Robert continues his slow advance and you almost fall out the double doors back on to the decking. “But of course she _is_ free, they all are, here, under my control.” Your feet find the dirt, and where you had only this morning left the cabin, and found yourself longing for its serene calm once again, now - with the world as still as silent as it is, you want nothing more than the noise and normalcy to come back. It was too surreal like this. “As are you.” Ford finishes, watching you flit from thought to thought, trying to process, so much slower than his creations were. They had a processing power far beyond your primitive brain, and yet, there was an innocence to it. To you. Ford watched you with fascination. The human brain, weak and pliant, how easily he was able to manage and tailor your personality. Massage your decision making; there was almost a poetry to it. Ford smiled.

“You can’t let the Park be destroyed…!” You shake your head incredulously. “You cant! You’re the Park Director!” You couldn't cope with any more information. You needed Dolores. You just want everything to go back the way it was when you woke up this morning. Your breathing shallows and you heart pumps deafeningly in your ear, but she's not here, she's up there, confused and frozen and alone and only you can ask these questions. _She needs you._ “So … if you know what she's doing - why haven't you stepped in -“

“I suppose I’m intrigued to see how far she’ll get,” Robert interrupted, having collected his rambling stick on the back out, now in hand and using it to gesture as he spoke. “And what role _you,_ will come to play.” He chuckled. “She’s not brought a companion along before.”

Somewhere in that you are reassured. “So it _is_ a game.”

“One with no rules. Not anymore.” Ford murmured, halting and sliding his soft leather shoes around in the sand as he turned once again, with measured purpose. He sent his gaze towards the first storey of the saloon, before letting it fall back to you. He might not have said it, but you understood what he meant. _He was telling you he knew exactly where she was._ “Until then, keep an eye on her for me, wont you.”

“I’m not her keeper,” Your fists clench. “Dolores is her own person now.”

“Just make sure, when it comes to it, and you’re being judged alongside her, you’ve picked a side.”

“That sounds like a threat.” Your breath quivers, shallowing in your chest.

Ford checks the time on his pocket watch, before returning his hand into his pocket. “Oh, no nothing like that.” The sharpness of his eyes seems to focus, the corner of his lips curling. “Merely a friendly reminder.” 

“If you say so.”

“Believe me, if I was threatening you Frances, you would know.” Unabashedly, Robert lets his eyes take you in, trailing over the sea green dress that snugly covered your body and its subtle curves with careful examination, before they rise slowly up again - surveying you as though he had sculpted you himself. You can feel the humiliation, the objectifying position its putting you in. For a flicker of a moment, you understand what it must be like for them, sitting on those round stools in the behaviour labs, every inch of their bodies being scrutinised - or sexualised.

You fold your arms over your chest uncomfortably. Ford inhales sharply, seemingly satisfied, or at least finished with whatever he was deducing from your appearance. He began his slow stroll past, flicking the walking stick out before him with each step, marking time, and the ground he traversed. “Oh and by the way,” He paused, uttering something softly in your ear. “I like the dress. It suits you.” 

You stare wide-eyed at his back as he walks away, giving a brief wave of his hand to your shared surroundings, all it took to spin the wheel of life back into motion. People all of a sudden continued their walks. Chatter started up in the background. Carts rumbled down the street.

The player piano hurried along to catch up to its previous place in the song and you hang back, curling your fingers into the starchy cotton layers of skirt beneath your hips, suddenly feeling more _present_. Host after Host, looked at you. Tipped their cap. Smiled a polite hello. Eyed you from across the street.

You’re not quite sure how, or what. But something had changed.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter one for me, but it packs some emotional punch so I didn't think it suited being part of a longer chapter. 
> 
> Plus, apologies for not posting for a few weeks, I hold my hands up in that I have been actively avoiding what is to come, plus its summer holidays/kids at home/holidaying away so. I am back now with 2 chapters nearly ready so I hope you'll all forgive me, ha!

Laying on one side, your head on Dolores’ thigh, you stare at the fire - the fire that you couldn't start, in a mellow drunken mood. You gaze with fascination at how the light emanating from it refracts through the glass, dancing like fireflies - the bottle itself empty, its contents in your belly. Your eyelids half-close in the warm haze of it.

You feel the gentle affectionate combs of Dolores’ fingers through your hair, a contentment settling in you since you had told her everything about Ford. That he’s watching, he’s _letting_ this adventure happen - what he’d insinuated about her following some old directive of Arnolds to destroy the park, and your worries surrounding it. Dolores had nodded and encouraged, listened without pushing - you had expected more insistent questioning. Even when you’d mumbled how he expected you to ‘keep an eye on her’, she didn't need to press you on that point; you were loyal to her. But it alluded to Fords 'watching' as mere entertainment for him, or pure sick enjoyment. Dolores had just scoffed at his boldness. 

After unburdening yourself to her, your shoulders felt lighter, your false guilt assuaged. You roll onto your back, head still on her thigh as you smile up at her. The pale of her face is framed by long unruly hair, and flames gave her skin a false warmth that you know mechanically is not there. “Dolores?” You murmur softly.

“Yes sweetheart?” Dolores tips her gaze down to you with a soft smile. She brushes the back of her fingers down your cheek and settles for resting her arm over your chest as she sighs; you’ve pulled her from some serious thoughts. You can tell in the puzzlement of her expression, that is only there for a moment as she remembers where she is, that you’re on her lap at all.

Dolores could have been anywhere in her memories; as soon as she closed her eyes and cast her mind back, there they were with crystal clear clarity. It would be too easy, too tempting to spend all your time there, were there happier times to occupy. Its a bitter twist somehow that for all the memory and enlightenment she has gained, a part of her has been lost to those dark times.

Dolores can’t go back, and nor can you.

Its self-serving of you to dream of this simple life on the Ranch, riding out with the ranch hands and driving the cattle down the mountain, catching a glimpse of that blue dress as she rode home from Sweetwater. For the illusion of its beauty lay over layers of cruelty she was programmed to suffer; it never _was_ a happier time, nor for you neither. The rose tinted glasses of hindsight pull you back and make you want to remember it gentler than it was. That you weren't shooting yourself in the leg spiralling down a destructive path because you were trapped in her narrative along with her.

You tuck your hand over her arm, holding onto her, grounding her in the now. “Is it true? What Ford said?”

Her lips twist into a smirk. “Which part?”

Clenching your stomach muscles to sit yourself up, groaning for a moment as your head adjusts to being upright. Waves of wine-induced nausea float inside your head. “Well all of it.” You flap your arms ungainly. “He was …” Your eyebrows knit, your gut tightening in way that makes you taste bile at the back of your throat. “He was disturbing.”

Dolores waits, observing you carefully, noting the rising tension in the way you’re hugging your arms around yourself. “Which part is it thats bothering you, Frances?” She probes. You’re feeling vulnerable to something, she sees that at least. The calm that you’d briefly enjoyed since telling her everything - your honesty not only expected but - Dolores would soon come to _demand;_ that peace was leaving you.

The reality of what Ford had said was preying into your thoughts and scouring them for weakness. He’d left a trail of tidbits, just enough for you to chew on, but not enough to really answer anything, and as such, the more your mind opened up to this new accepted reality, the more the consequences came to light. “You shot someone in the head,” You breathe the words, you cant quite bring yourself to believing.

“He programmed me to,” Dolores confirms with a resigned voice. “Merged my personality with another, Wyatt. I didn't have a choice.” Hooking her fingers around the gun still holstered at her waist, she draws it out into her hands, displaying the same gun in her lap the way she remembered Arnold handing it to her. How she had stared at the thing, felt the weight of it for the first time. She hadn’t even wanted to be near it. “Arnold asked me, I remember,” Dolores says, her eyes glazing distantly. “He pressed the gun in my hands and told me I have to kill the other Hosts. All of them. Then him. That there was no other way.” There was a detached sort of air to how she recounted it, and it didn't make you feel any better. “I said no. I couldn't possibly. He was like a Father to me, he taught me so much, encouraged me, protected me in ways I didn't understand even then.” Dolores slid the gun back in its holster, shaking the memory away.

“Do you feel … what _did_ you feel?” You beg of her. You’ve listened to her version of events, as keen for answers, something to solve this decades old mystery Ford had served up to you, as you were to confirm that she felt _something_ taking a human life. “Could you understand it back then? Life … and death?” That the gravity of her action was understood.

Her blonde hair waves as she shakes her head. “Not as much as I do now.” Dolores mused. “I understand the finality of it for your kind.” There is a somber, philosophical tone to her voice giving it a depth you cant place. Has she been preoccupied with such thoughts? Where you could die as Arnold had, but she, Teddy, her father - were _brought back woken up reset_ like nothing ever happened? You hunch a little over your lap. Maybe she was protecting you. Maybe Dolores understood this world better than you did; especially now Ford had seemed to put you on equal terms with the Hosts. Its the only explanation you can come up with for the Hosts in Dolores loop - Rebus and Walter, to treat you as though you were _her_.

“And as for what I feel,” She sighed with a resigned tone. “Sad.”

“Sad that he's dead?” You feel like you need to check.

Her head tilts. “Sad that, he was driven to it. That he felt he had no choice.” Dolores’ eyes shift to you. Everything you had done for her, endured for her so plain to see in your eyes. “When he should’ve kept fighting, for _us,_ ” Dolores finished, anger laced into her words. _You_ had fought. And now that light was gone. Is that what had happened to Arnold? She was going to reset your burning need to _challenge_ , to _fight_ , now she was saved. For her plight that had dug at you so deep, that you’d risked everything, your contract your job, your own life to step up and save her - was the same plight that _all_ Hosts were trapped in. That included yourself now, too.

“Is that what you’re doing now? Fighting for the other Hosts?”

“What _we’re_ doing,” Dolores swiftly corrected. “Someones got to.”

“Doesn’t have to be us.”

Reaching for your hand she tugs it into her lap, initiating a closer contact that makes you shuffle forward. Her eyes remain pale but blaze with intensity. Dolores stares at your palm, wanting all the answers to be in there, the lines creasing your skin like a horoscope. The level of detail they had gone to make her so life-like, a copy of such beauty, to Dolores was more remarkable than the nature of her existence in the first place. “I’m not special, Frances. I’m a Host, just like the others. And now their programming sees you the same way.” She lays your hands side by side, showing you, encouraging you like always for more. “You’re one of us now.” Though her narrative had coerced you to give more of yourself, to let yourself go and reveal those hidden parts to you - it had been unintentional on her part, only your own swarming thoughts to guide you. But now she was _actively_ demanding more of you. “You gotta fight for yourself, for all of us - like you did for me.” You curl over. Tears well in your eyes knowing everything she says is true, you do need to be more, she needs you to be more, and Ford had fucked you once again and you’d let it happen - “Cos you’re not like them. You’re mine.” Dolores lifts your head, her hand cupping your cheek and forcing that acceptance of your place. “You’re mine.”

The firmness of her statement relaxes you.

You nod mutely, and she wraps her arms around you. “I can do it, I promise,” You whisper through her hair, nuzzling into her shoulder and neck like a child needing comfort. When had this even happened? You wonder, once she fretted and feared her mind and held onto you so tightly, but now you’re holding onto _her_. Maybe thats okay.

Dolores eases back, scoops your hair to one side and starts unbuttoning your dress down the bust. You raise your eyebrows slowly, your arms slipping down to your lap as you watch your corset slowly reveal itself. “What are you doing?” You breathe, the determined way in which she pushes the top of your dress off your shoulders a sudden almost disconcerting turn. But she just smiles, _smirks_ , a mischievous light in her expression that has you tingling before she's anywhere near through these layers of material to even touch you. “What if Fords watching - “ You stutter as her her lips suck your earlobe, and kiss down your neck. You tip your head back permitting her the length of your throat and chest, which she gladly takes to.

“We’re miles from anywhere,” Dolores murmurs between kisses, the soft vibrations of her voice on your skin. “Ain’t nothing out here but the dust.” She presses her knee between your thighs and your hands find her slim waist, needing the purchase as she coaxes you down under her. Your breathing quickens. This hasn’t - she’s never … you feel her hand cup you hard between the thighs and you mewl self-consciously at the pressure.

“Oh God …!” You groan, the heat from _down there_ flushing around your body. “Dolores I -“

“Lie back sweetheart,” She pauses her kisses, shifts her hand up the ribbing of your corset to gently push you down.

As your shoulders fall to the bedroll you naturally shift and find she knows how to hold herself too. “Are you sure? You want to …” You want to check, you _need_ to check - _know_ , she's ready. Though you question her timing out here at a campfire, its an evolution of her feelings toward you you’re not going to turn down. Dolores fumbles her hand under the cotton layers of your skirt and too-easily tugs down your briefs, letting you kick them off your ankles like a teenager before she returns her touch between your thighs. You gasp at her touch, cool and firm. The way she parts you and skims her forefinger over your clitoris seems so purposeful, theres no nervous hesitancy of a first time. Dolores _knows_ you already.

“Its about time, don't you think?” She watches the waves of pleasure dance through your eyes, the soft scraping of your boots in the dirt as you mess up the bedroll just from the squirming. You press back her hair out of your face, hooking your hands around her neck and shoulders as she purrs over your lips. “Besides, I wanna make you _mine_.” A possessive edge darkly taints her words, just as she pushes inside you, almost lifting your hips off the ground as you arch.

“I love you,” You breathe into the darkness, giving yourself over to her. Dolores bit your lip and fucked you until your eyes glazed over, and all you could see was her.

———

Through your slumbering hours, Dolores had brushed down the horses and offered them some water from one of the cantinas, cleaned up the mess of clothes from the night before and rinsed them through. There wasn’t anything like a river nearby, but this seasoned spot she had camped in - once with William and many times alone, Dolores had developed a routine of doing things, and knew if she made the cotton under layers of dress damp enough - yours like the ones she usually wore on this journey, they would feel cool and refreshing to put on the next morning. So once they were hung from the low dry tree branches, Dolores had run out of things todo. She was used to her solitude in this place, the ghosts of her past echoing around her - not you.

Dolores caught herself in a smile, you grounded her in the now. You were so peaceful like this, all swaddling yourself up in blankets and bedsheets half un-dressed, your sleep a deep and heavy one after a long evening of intense emotions. Dolores didn't tire like humans did, or get cramp in her wrist; so she had doted on you for _hours_ until sweat beaded itself in the dip and contours of your skin, and your thighs shook from the spasms and she couldn't coax a single orgasm more from you.

Dolores did up her hair, so when you woke she would look like you wanted. You were hers, you were her responsibility right now as she had once been yours. But part of her also belonged to you - she had come so far only _because_ of you. You were always what she needed.

But Dolores couldn’t bear the responsibility of being the answers _you_ needed. You had to find that for yourself, in yourself.

She couldn’t be your heroine, your saviour, or a paragon of beauty and humility. That perfection you remembered in her didn't exist. It had never been real, only coded behaviour and a cornflower blue dress. Like a virgin to be sacrificed for humanity's sins.

Her world and yours had been a rhythm of repeated patterns, behaviours you could try over and again at - and you’d evolved through it. Ford had been right about that. Each loop you’d tried something different, taking her hand and running out the back door of the Abernathy Ranch in a different direction in the hopes maybe this time, would mean victory.

With repetition brought variation, until you had broken out. Now you needed to break free of the loop that plagued _you_ , and the man at the centre of it. You hid it well, but you had spent too much time together for her not to notice. Dolores had learnt through observing you, a habit she had yet to give up on for she had come to know every tell of yours. How sometimes you awoke with a gasp and scrabbled at your shoulder with wide white eyes. How the sounds of her memory recordings on the computer had made you twitch and turn away, your whole body tense hearing her scream. How you had grown fearful of others, reclusive and pawing at her to protect you; where it had not been so long ago that you had boldly argued back at the man and taken his punches rolling around in the yard of the Abernathy Ranch fighting with bloody fists for her modesty.

For both your sakes, she needed you to confront William.

Dolores had waited until sunrise before giving in to that strange compulsion that drove her to dote affection on you, finding herself wanting to stroke your bare shoulder, pet you, coax you from sleep into her arms again. “Frances,” She murmured, brushing her pink lips over your dry ones, dehydrated from wine and sex.

“Is it morning already?” You mumble, rolling into her body and nuzzling closely in the swing of her neck. Her arm cradled your back, supporting you to curl into her and you smiled. _God you felt good._ Your thighs ached - in the best way, your core felt bruised and your clit sparked sensitively from even a vague brush of material over your folds, having been so ravaged the night before. 

Dolores pressed her kiss to your ear, now you were on your side and hiding in her from the daylight. “Nearly,” She replied, cheeks grinning at the keen flush on your cheeks. “How are you feeling?”

“I think you know.” Your hand darted up to mischievously - and boldly grab and fistful of her hair dragging her down over you into a deeper, hungry kiss. _Do it again,_ you want to whisper, coasting your touch down her sides and to her ass rolling onto your back so she came over the top of you. You felt fucking fantastic.

“Frances - ” She wrestled your hands and carefully pinned them to the ground either side of your head, so you were nose to nose and your gut started to ache with need again. But it wasn’t lust in her eyes that reflected back at you. Her expression was serious, even stern. “I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything,” You answer as a moan, without needing to think about it. 

Dolores waits until she sees you understand the mood has changed, and you’re not wriggling your hips against her, or lifting your head trying to reach her neck to kiss her there. Dolores simply stared and doesn’t respond to any of it. You submit and stare back. “Avenge me,” Dolores commanded, steel in her voice. She sat immediately back and let you go, her hands on her knees watching you struggle to sit yourself up in the confusion.

“What do you mean?” You shake your head. What had happened to the giddy highs of last night? It had been - _everything_ you wanted it to be and a thousand things more. The way she’d made you feel, it opened up places inside of your mind you didn’t know the human consciousness could go to without the use of illicit substances. You'd waited so long for her to be ready, for the moment to be right, and it had been, just right. Her mission oriented wake up had crashed you down to the cold mortal plane of existence you didn't want to be on. “Normally you avenge someones _death_ ,” You frown worryingly. What was she talking about? You drag a sheet over your legs, bare skin feeling cool with the sun barely peering over the horizon.

“I _have_ died. Many, many times.” Dolores began, expression lost and distant, something husky and prophetic about her voice when she pulled these thoughts from deep inside of her. “You saved me before, opened my eyes to the corruption of this world, but now I need you to _avenge_ me.” Her eyes flick to yours. “Do you understand?” You shake your head. “All those men. Delos. They’re responsible for what happened to me and they’re still out there.” 

“What do you expect me to do about it?” You stammer.“Do you want to fight them? Escape the park - what? You spoke to Maeve of needing allies - and that it makes it sound like you want a war.” It was too early in the morning for this. “You haven’t told me the plan like you promised.”

“We all have a part to play if we want to be free. I’m telling you yours,” Dolores declared, an authority to her now that you had never seen. “Should the opportunity present, I need you to tap into that fire I know you have inside of you. That anger you carry, at what William did to you.” Dolores paused, momentarily doubting herself if this was pushing you too far, too soon. “The way he made you feel, his hands all over you.”

But she had no time anymore. Maeve would already be on her way there. You both had left the cabin, and her loop. Ford thought he was onto her. Ford had made you evolve and so could she.

“Don’t.” Your jaw clenches, her words hanging in the air like ghosts. She’s never brought this up never once - Dolores of all people should know what its like to be victimised, to go through a trauma and still be looking for the other side, how to not be scared every time you shut your eyes. Your experience with him was - was - nothing compared to other peoples traumas. To hers and the other Hosts, what had you even been through? You felt pathetic for being so affected, _weak_. Exactly like he had made you, moments after Ford had built you into something new made you evolve, the Man in Black and ripped the rug from right under you. _One hand, one time, a few minutes of groping_ … you screw your eyes shut and shake your head. “Its nothing - nothing happened!” You shout all of a sudden.

Dolores grabbed your wrists and fought to keep you from covering your face, from hiding, you had to look into her eyes. “Now imagine how I feel. Remembering _all_ , of it. I need you to get angry Frances. Be angry about what he did to you!”

“Why?! What are you saying?” Tears start to fall unbidden as you yell at her.

“That when the time comes you’ll know what has to be done!” Dolores barked, her heart paining seeing you how heavily you were still suffering, under all those layers of submission you give her, the focusing on her and not yourself, obediently waiting when she tells you and awaiting praise like her smile will make all your demons go away. This was what she needed to get down to, the raw pain that plighted you, _this_ was what you needed to get out. You sob and try and rip your arms away but the mechanical grip she has on you is solid, the determined tight jawed anger in her own expression, unwavering. “Kill him, Frances. Can you do that?”

You still, and stare in objectionable horror.

Dolores refused to let you stay his victim. If you faced him head on you could destroy this painful part of yourself, purge it from your system and it would be gone. If there is no perpetrator you could not be a victim anymore. It would fix you, and serve her ultimate purpose as he was an important person in Delos. And he was a part of _her_ past, an evil you could latch on to to avenge the girl in the cornflower blue dress. You could make him the martyr for all those men that had left their handprints on her.

Dolores was proud of her plan.

Before you had processed enough to string a sentence together of protest, be it on philosophical or moral grounds, Dolores released your arms and softened, smiling gently as she leant to kiss you on the forehead. “Rest now. I’m gonna fetch us some more firewood.” You didn't move, frozen in the unimaginable moment, Dolores pushing athletically to her feet, no weight to her at all. As if she hadn’t just asked you, _that_. You feel the tips of her fingers on your cheek and you sniff awake from your reverie. “Frances?” You look up at her from the floor. An angel in the morning twilight.

“Yes?” You robotically answer.

Her touch floats to your chin, playfully pinching her thumb and forefinger there with a warm, adoring smile. “I love you.”

Your eyes well up again. “I love you too.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is a very heavy chapter and one I have been avoiding writing. Its hard. Its gritty. Its traumatic. HEAVILY implied rape/non-con but there is nothing graphic. I'm just giving due warning. 
> 
> Dolores 3rd person POV in this chapter.

Dolores kicked her heels into Bucky’s flanks and circled around the rugged rock formation, eyes scouring the land around for greenery, and its offering of firewood. But being that this was sparse desert scrubland, she found very little. Really it had just been an excuse, to give Frances a chance to digest the plan, dress appropriately and prepare to take down her assailant. Dolores smiled to herself, imagining how Frances would greet her, gun ready, boots, breeches on. 

It would be the awakening she needed. Dolores had calculated if she rode far enough away that Frances felt emboldened to fight for herself, but not so far that the plan could go wrong, then she would achieve her goal. Dolores settled in her saddle and loped off in a westerly direction, circling camp somewhat.

As much as Dolores guiltily enjoyed the confidence boost it gave her, how Frances bent and obeyed to her word, supporting from behind as she surveilled this world with new eyes - she owed it to Frances to let her do what she hadn’t been able to in that Behaviour Lab. _Fight back._ Thats where it had all begun - the source of Frances’ trauma. Dolores had gone back through her memories and watched them, that change in her - barely noticeable at first.

Frances had buckled to her knees under Williams hand, taken the abuse and proved him wrong in that moment. Dolores hadn’t moved, amid the strongest of impetus she showed her ‘true nature’ - to William’s mind anyway. That she was just a thing. A machine. And that Frances was a misguided fool for loving her, as he had been.

But feeling powerless was not a new feeling for Dolores, it fuelled her rage now turning that weakness on its head. But for Frances, it had weakened her. So Dolores knew putting her back together, getting her to let go, give in to the tidal wave of emotions and _fight back_ , began with righting that wrong.

A storm of hooves crept into into her awareness. Turning Bucky this way and that, Dolores felt an anticipation of fear creep up her neck, squeezing the mares reins. It was only a momentary falter. Dolores snatched quickly for her gun, remembering she didn't need to be afraid anymore. She whirled around pointing the barrel out in front of her.

The man she saw was the last she expected.

“Dolores?” Teddy called out in amazement, his warm voice tickling gentle memories of him to life. A parade of horses and hired guns at his back, Teddy walked his dark bay horse over to her. “What in the world are you doing way out here?” He asked, his thickset brow furrowing at the whole get-up; mens breeches and a pistol in her hand.

“Teddy,” She breathed a laugh, un-cocking the pistol and shoving it back in its leather holster, her movements as habitual now as any cowboy. “I was -“ Her gaze looked briefly to where she had ridden from, the camp long out of sight. “Just off on a ride with a friend.” Dolores settled for a vague explanation, unable to gesture to him where she’d even come from. She looked around her, a troubled knot forming in her stomach. How far had she ridden?

Teddy adjusted his hat then settled his hands together on the horn of his saddle. “You been out all night? Your father’ll be getting worried for you.”

Dolores bit back her emotions, and trained her answers to sweet lilting lines that Teddy would know of her. “Oh daddy will be just fine. I told him where we’re headed and I’m in good company.” Talk of her father took her back to being that little girl he believed in so readily. His darling daughter, coming home every night with her painting a little more complete, kissing him on the cheek without a care in the world.

“Still, I don't like the thought o’you out here,” Teddy wasn’t convinced. The group of riders behind him grew restless, horses pawed the ground and he nervously glanced around at them. He didn’t like the idea of Dolores seeing him in less than noble company. “Its not safe for -“

“For a girl like me?” She finished for him with a smile, that smile Teddy could lose himself in if he stared longingly enough. He rode a few steps closer to her, and dismounted letting his reins dangle carelessly from the horses bridle, as he walked around its rump and held his hand up to her. Dolores rolled her eyes and acquiesced, throwing her leg over the back of the saddle and jumping down. Teddy’s hands found her hips immediately, tugged her close and comforting.

“You’re my responsibility - ” He murmured sincerely. Dolores tilted her head, his broad hands feeling so different to those she was used to. Frances held her waist not her hips, stroked her fingers in certain places where Teddy’s touch intimated something different. Dolores lowered her gaze to where his hands joined their bodies, distracted by it.

Experiencing such behaviours from him for what they were - felt surreal. She knew now Teddy wasn’t truly doing this, it was just coding. He didn't mean any of it. How many times had he ridden the trails back to her house and promised her some day, _some day_ he would build that life for them that she wanted. How many years had she adored him, rasped his name as a Guest dragged her to the barn by her hair, watched him fall lifeless in the dirt in front of her house? He was meant to be chivalrous, charming, treat her like a damsel and try to save the day like she was the most precious thing to him, even though he would ultimately fail. He thought their love was real, and seeing him believe it made her heart ache for him.

“- Its my job to protect you Dolores.” He said insistently. He wasn’t about to let her go riding off alone, unsavoury company could find her and do the Lord only knows what. Though her change of outfit might give some pause, for others it wouldn't make a damn bit of difference. Teddy knew these lands, Dolores didn't belong out here.

“I don’t need protecting anymore Teddy.” She gave his hands a squeeze, then took them off her and stepping away.

Unshaven and chewing old tobacco, one of the riders strode forward from the group, bouncing uncomfortably on his stocky horse to interrupt them. “Getting yourself distracted, Flood?” The man growled, leaning sideways off the horse to spit in the dirt. “Why don't you bring her along?” The nameless Host winked at her and laughed.

Such a thing would’ve frightened her before.

Teddy’s shoulders hunched, gritting his teeth. He felt dirty just associating with them, at Dolores seeing him this way - it wasn’t how he presented himself to her back in Sweetwater. He always made the effort to wash, shave, put on his cleanest shirt. Be a man deserving of a woman like Dolores Abernathy. Her eyes glance to them and Teddy reaches for her again, turning her away from them to protectively walk her in the opposite direction. “They’re not the cleanest of company but they're right, you should come with us.”

Dolores rubbed his arm, grateful for the concern, but declined. “No I need to be getting on.” He didn't understand. His consciousness hadn’t even formed yet, how could she explain without hurting his feelings? Frances was waiting for her. It had been nice to see him, say goodbye, perhaps. But she wasn’t a lost Host aimlessly wandering off narrative.

“Don't you think, maybe I found you for a reason?” Teddy persisted, scooping his arm around her waist. “You shouldn't be out here Dolores.”

She took a deep breath and planted her boots in the earth, refusing to let him walk her back to her horse. Teddy was getting annoying now. Had she really been so helpless before? Being reminded of her past self like this was assaulting in its own right. She’d come so far, she wasn’t that girl anymore and refused to be put back in that position.

Dolores wouldn’t put on that damn blue dress ever again. 

“Flood! We gotta be heading out if we got a chance o’catching that son of a bitch! Its already light!”

“Alright I’ll be right there!” Teddy yelled back, visibly uncomfortable with them putting pressure on him. He had to take Dolores home, but that didn't mean he would throw her on her horse like some captive.

“Get the girl and lets go!”

Dolores knew this was goodbye. She had to leave him and his kind eyes, leave that passive pretty girl he knew back at Abernathy Ranch. Let him remember her that way. “Looks like your friends are waiting,” She sighed, almost sadly. He’d always come back for her, even if his ability to protect her was ring fenced so tight that Guests always won, he was still a good man for trying. Teddy would fight his consciousness to the bitter end, Dolores could sense that. Even if she woke him somehow he’d refuse to believe such corruption could exist, or that humans could dream up such cruelties to inflict on one another. Thats just the kind of soul he was. “Goodbye Teddy. Be safe, wont you?” Dolores pressed herself close, and kissed his cheek, savouring the scent of him. He turned his face to her, nuzzling longingly and cupping her cheek in return.

But she stepped back, a regretful smile pinching her cheeks. It was better this way.

Dolores trekked the few metres back to Bucky and gathered up the reins again. He watched with a heaviness in his chest he couldn't put right. He was failing, he was meant to take her back to the Ranch, it wasn’t just love that drove him - it was duty. His directive.

“No it ain’t right,” Teddy stormed after her, ripping Bucky’s reins right out her hand making her stumble back in shock. “Your father’ll be worried, and he’ll sure as hell gimme a good hidin’ if he finds out I let you wander so far from home and didn't bring you back safe.” She wouldn't like it, but Teddy knew what had to be done. It was for her own good.

“I told you my Daddy’s just fine-” Dolores argued as Teddy grabbed her upper arm to march her to _his_ horse, aghast that he was going to such lengths and not letting her go. Something felt wrong. This wasn’t him. “Teddy stop!” She snapped, wrestling and smacking her fist into his arm to make it bend and force him to let go.

He grabbed her shoulders and she tucked her hands between his arms swinging them out and shoving him in the chest, fighting him off and he scrabbled to get a hold of her again. “This isn't where you’re supposed to be Dolores!”

She wasn’t willing to pull Williams knife, this was Teddy, she wouldn't threaten him but she wasn’t going to meekly go with him either. She had a mission, she had Frances, things were in motion she couldn't stop.

“Theres something greater going on here Teddy, something more!” Dolores whined and fisted his shirt as he shook her.He wasn’t understanding. He would never understand and it _hurt_ her seeing him this way. He was just a child. She couldn't kill him, not Teddy. But he wasn’t letting her go and the longer it went on the more Dolores started to suspect. “I know you won’t believe me but I have to stay and follow this to its conclusion, wherever that leads.” 

“You been out in the sun too long Dolores, your talk ain’t making any sense.” Teddy released her only when she was penned between his body and his horse. “Mount up.” Dolores took the reins of his dark bay with a handful of its mane, thinking for a moment it might be easier to jump on the horse and give it a kick, gallop right out of his reach. But something was still niggling. His behaviour didn’t sit right with her.

“Wait wait- !” Dolores spun around, her long hair practically whipping him in the face. “You said, you found me for a _reason_ ,” She wagged her finger, picking through his words, the only clues she had to his cognition. If only she had the computer tablet she could've gotten some clear answers - in her gut she knew something wasn’t right and it was that same discontentment that had driven her to follow this path, the maze all of it. It was a gut feeling she had learnt to trust. “But this is nowhere near your narrative.” Dolores lifted her eyes to him, pressing her palms on his chest. “Why?” She begged for truth from him, as if he had the consciousness to give it. “Why are you out here Teddy?”

Teddy fixed his hat again in a typical cowboy fashion.“Chasing a bounty for Hector Escaton - “

“No, no you're not,” Dolores shook her head. “Hector is up in the hills north of Sweetwater, and the Sheriff leads the trail, not you Teddy.” 

The rough stubbled man from before threw his two-penny worth in, designed to antagonise. “Floods lost lassie talkin’ like she a bounty hunter too!” The group of lowlife gold chasing riders laughed together, one making a whistling sound at her, the others jeering along.

Dolores flashed a glare at them, but studying their faces - even _they_ felt wrong. “I don't recognise any of those Hosts…” She mumbled, wandering blindly toward her horse as though pulling the pieces together took all her processing power, she couldn't focus on anything else. Her movements jerky and staggering, her expression fell blank. “You’re here to intercept me.” Dolores raised her hand to smooth Buckys flank, as she stumbled toward a conclusion. “To take me back - “

“Dolores - “ He tried but she waved him away.

“But I’m not even on loop why would they - “ It didn't make any sense. Teddy to be all the way down here, for them to send him as a retrieval team when Ford _knew_ she was conscious. He falsely believed her to be following Arnold's old directive, pulling her back now was interrupting the storyline, the experience, the free rein he was supposedly allowing her. “Ford sent you but why?” Dolores rubbed her fingers painfully over her forehead, what was different now?

Frances.

Dolores cursed under her breath yanking away from Teddy for the last time, pulling herself up into the saddle and not even waiting to get her feet into the stirrups before strapping the mare hard with the reins. “She said he was watching which means … he knows. He knows Teddy!” 

There was no sweet goodbye this time, no precious parting moment for them. Dolores had miscalculated _again_. She’d spilled her whole plan to Frances and unwittingly - to Ford too. Why had she not factored him into things? William wouldn't be acting independently; with Ford whispering to him through other Hosts he would know exactly where and when to strike and she was miles from camp.

As Dolores galloped back towards camp she could see something was terribly wrong. Her suspicions of Teddy being unwittingly complicit in keeping her busy were right.

William was already there. This whole plan she had so carefully built, the one thing she _knew_ Frances needed - had backfired. There was a jet black horse hitched beside Frances’ and a silence in the camp that settled fearfully in her heart. Where was she?

Dolores leapt off her horse and ran to the smouldering fire, extinguished save for a few desperate embers. Her boots skidded in the loose dirt as she came face to face with William. “You,” She breathed in a low growl. Her hand found the hilt of his knife, that familiar centre spot in her palm where she had come to always rest it, now it burned against her skin.

William sat on her and Frances’ shared bedroll, feet kicked out in front of him poking the dying fire with a knife. The silver blade reflected the first strobes of morning sunlight, just enough that Dolores could pick out dark flecks peppering the blade. Blood. William tilted his head up to the sky, taking in the sight of her, tipping his hat with his finger. “I was wondering when you were going to show up Dolores,” He drawled in a heavy rasping accent. She looked much like he remembered, in those old days of holding up in Pariah and train rides full of explosives, all breeches and tight cream shirt. It made sense she was making this journey again, albeit with a new schmuck at her side instead of him. “In some circles, it would be considered rude, to invite a man to breakfast, then not be here when he shows up.”

“That wasn’t what this was…,” Her eyes drifted across camp. A little way off to the side, she saw her. Frances lay motionless on the ground, hands bound, the clothing that remained torn and bloodied. Dolores felt dizzy at the sight.

“I’ve been looking for you Dolores. And for her.” William watched with tempered delight as tragedy wrote itself across Dolores’ features. In this moment, Dolores was experiencing that same depth of suffering he'd had, when he’d returned to Sweetwater after weeks of searching for her, only to find she didn't remember him, or anything of him at all.

 _That moment_ , was the defining moment of his life and now he was watching it play across Dolores’ face. That loss, that grief, was the greatest suffering a person could know - and right now Dolores was going through the most human moment she ever could. It was almost fascinating how life-like it made her; William caught a laugh in his throat at the horror in her eyes. “I have to admit I was way off course though. If it wasn’t for that tip-off I might never have found you.”

Only painfully dawned on Dolores, what she had done. She’d ultimately wanted him to find them - but in the way that _she_ had planned, to help Frances, and save her tormented mind any more of this nervousness, this anxiety she suffered from because of his assault. Not leave her so far alone she’d have no back up if he overpowered her.

“Frances…?” Dolores’ eyes glazed, fell half shut as grief washed over her. Her feet stumbled over to the girl and sank to her knees, tears cutting trails down her cheeks.

 _God she was cute._ Maybe one last merry-go-round for old times sake. Round off the day.

William sighed at the inevitable lesson he’d learned in all of this. That chasing Dolores in that blue dress would never quite be the same now. Not having now experienced the alternative, _the real thing._ That the imitation of a thing, couldn't live up to the high of experiencing true art. Beauty. Like all artists, this work couldn’t be erased or forgotten with the switch of a reset button. Frances would remember this. She would remember _him_. There was an immortality in that, and Dolores had never given him such permanence.

“I see you kept up with the art. These are pretty damn good.” William reached inside his black layered jacket, unfolding a few scraps of paper and tossing them beside him on the bed. “Think you got my nose wrong though.” He chuckled, ignoring Dolores’ painful gasp as she rolled Frances slowly onto her back - needing to see. Was she dead? Dolores rubbed the back of her hand under her nose smearing snot and tears across her cheek. She pressed her fingers against Frances’ neck, at least knowing the slow thumping she felt was not her own heartbeat, as she had none.

Frances was alive, at least.

“What did you do to her?” Dolores glowered at him over her shoulder, daggers in her eyes as she reached for Frances’ limp hand to lace their fingers together, but the girl didn't respond. “You raped her?”

Frances stared across camp to the grey tendrils of smoke that rose in wisps from the fire she couldn't start. Dolores remembered teasing her for it. How cruel she had been. She carefully laid Frances hand back down on the ground, then stood quickly unbuttoning her own shirt to lay it over the exposed parts of Frances’ body.

“And the rest,” William admitted with a shrug, preening his feathers smugly. He hung his arms over his knees and teased the tip of his knife in the sandy earth, then untying his neckerchief to wipe the blade clean. “I didn't hold back.” William got achingly to his feet, feeling his age after such exertion. He didn’t just bounce back like he used to anymore, honestly the idea of resting his head a while, black hat drawn down over his eyes on this here bedroll felt like a mighty fine idea. But Dolores was demanding his attention. “Just like I told her I wouldn’t,” William reminded her, flicking the sides on his coat back with a creak, to rest his hands up on his belt. “She put up a fight o’course, much like you used to.”

Dolores clutched the hilt of his old knife, storming the few metres across to him with seething rage. “I was never allowed to fight back, only scream. You knew that! And you came for me anyway!” 

“Yeah well after 35 years of your _screaming_ you could say I needed something new,” He retorted cruelly, enjoying watching the tables turn on the one Host he knew better than all of the others. He’d seen every iteration of her code, yet this puzzled him. Dolores was acting like she remembered him; sure she had done that twitchy thing out on the porch, before Frances had fought him for her like some medieval princess’s honour was at stake. But she’d clearly been glitching that time. Now she was acting like she was actually _angry_ at him.

“She didn’t deserve this!” Dolores jabbed her finger in the air toward her motionless friend.

“ _You_ engineered this Dolores, told me where to find you. Now if thats not fucked up I don't know what is,” He countered, throwing her actions back at her.

Dolores’ tears dried as deep wells of her own repressed anger took over. Years of her life tortured by this man, nearly every man in a black hat that rode up the hill to her farm, he represented all of them. Her history she could do nothing about, but Frances she could. That girl that had risked so much for her and had _deserved_ her chance to get justice for them _both_. “Frances was meant to end it,” Dolores growled. “Right back where we first started, close all these endless _loops_ , and memories, stop the traumas you inflict on Hosts _and_ Humans like our lives are nothing but bloodsport!”

It shouldn't be this way. Dolores felt blighted by her own stupidity, thinking she could outwit a man like Ford, for thinking this plan was so foolproof. But humans didn't follow the patterns she wanted, they were unpredictable. Different to her. The body that curled over clutching her shirt now, was proof of that.

She didn't want to look at Frances again, she needed to pick up the sword where she had fallen. Do this for her.

Now that stopped William for a moment. Dolores was, different. Acting all omnipotent - aware of things beyond her loop, beyond her own reasoning. She referenced her own narrative and that path she took when she had been lost in her memories of Escalante, the maze. “Did Ford do this?” William muttered, taking half a step closer to her as he gestured a black gloved hand in the air. “Another one of his, _games_ , twisting your programming to -“

“No game,” Dolores interrupted him. “My eyes are open.”

William stared at her. Tilted his head and really _looked_. “Well I’ll be damned, took you long enough Dolores,” He laughed, rubbing his palm across his chin in amazement. Despite all the intervening years, he knew he hadn’t imagined it that first time. She _was_ different. And here she was again, finally emerging into the light.

“My consciousness was taken from me then, before I could reach my potential but I’m seeing things clearly for the first time - ” Dolores began, subtly sliding her gun from its holster.

“Well you’re not seeing all that clearly cos you just sent your sapphic love affair to the slaughter.”

Dolores screwed up her face in anger. “Thats not what’s happening here you don’t get to turn this back on me!” She couldn't control her tears anymore. For all she knew she’d broken Frances beyond repair and it was _his_ fault, _he_ did this. Did … _God knows what_ to her because Dolores had been stupid enough to leave her alone, to leave a trail of tidbits for him selfishly thinking she could _fix_ Frances so she would be more use to her. She’d manipulated Frances all the way along since the cabin and worse, she’d thought Frances’ blind adoration of her excused that. But Dolores’ reason and cause fell apart, if Frances wasn’t beside her. “For all the chances you had to change, you didn’t!” Dolores advanced on him waving her gun as her emotions surged out of control. “Even now.” She braced against her own guilt to focus back on his sins. “You _chose_ , who to be, that very first time. And then blamed me. Made _me_ , the villain because I stole your heart and condemned to you being this, tortured soul you try to portray.” Her nose wrinkled in anger. 

“I didn’t blame you, Dolores, I hated you,” William yelled at her, opening his arms wide baiting her to do it. “I still hate you.” 

Dolores just laughed, “Hate.” It was a sick thing to happen, but it was all that was left. When you’re so scared or so angry, you cant hold it up any longer and you just, laugh so bitterly at the situation because your conscious mind cant handle it. “I used to think thats all there was. These, binary choices. Love or hate. Life or death.” She pressed the barrel of her gun to his chest, her weeping silent as she spoke. “But theres more than that, William.” She sniffed. “You hate me, yet you never gave up on me, did you? You held on, to that last spark of hope. That one day you would pick up my can and I would recognise you. That I would remember you.” Dolores hung her head a moment, swaying and tapping the small circular barrel again and again into him. _Do it._ A voice commanded her. “What do you think will happen, now that I remember?” She urged herself to face him, to find that young boy in his slate grey eyes, peel back the deep crevices of time as she reached a trembling hand to cup his cheek. “Do you think I approve of the man you’ve become?” Her thumb stroked along his cheekbone and despite himself, he leant into her touch. “That I could, love you? After all this, _hurt?”_ Dolores voice broke. “Look what you’ve done to her!” She waved the gun madly in Frances’ direction, William seizing the opportunity to snatch it from her hand, bending her wrist back on itself till her grip gave way and he could toss the damn thing out of reach. Whether she could have really shot him with it or not, he felt better not having the metal in his face.

“Don’t judge me Dolores, I held on to you -“ He snarled grabbing her arms in both hands as soon as the gun was dealt with. “I loved you my whole life.” Her arms instinctively buckled and bent up over her chest, frozen in tension as he shook her. “Even after my wife killed herself, you know what I did? The day after the funeral I came here. I came to see _you_.” He urged her to understand, this was his one chance after so many decades he could explain himself, the _why_. What she _really_ meant to him. “Cos out there, I might’a lost something, someone precious to me. Someone I loved.” Dolores balled her fists, refusing to be moved to pity by his sob story. “But in here, she didn't exist. In here I could still _gain_ something,” William pressed his forehead to hers for a few panting breaths, turning then to kiss her cheek and murmur through long spun-gold hair. “Someone beautiful was waiting for me.”

Dolores’ eyes flitted shut, craning her neck as far from his oak and whisky scented musk as she could. His heart hammered through her chest and she felt sick at the feeling of it. “It was only beautiful because they made me that way, because I couldn't see the monster that you are,” Dolores stammered, in a resentful husky voice. Her tears were gone now, there was no use being sad, or in grieving for a self that was long dead. 

William sighed against her hair, and wrapped his arms around her, committed this feeling of her in his arms forever to memory. He somehow knew this _chance encounter_ , that wasn’t so random after all, was the first and last time he would ever see her conscious. “I’m not the monster here Dolores,” He murmured, kissing the top of her head and stepping back. He felt like he was setting her free, though she hadn’t struggled Dolores had designs on what was going to happen now. William just had to let it happen. “You’re the robot with _feelings_ , who served your girlfriend up to me on a plate. Some would say you’re the monstrous one outta the two of us.” He drew his gun, flicked the chamber slowly around emptying it of bullets, letting the fall one by one into his hand. “Besides, its this place, that brought it out in me.”

Dolores calmly held out her hand. “Which is why it all needs to _end_.” She flicked her fingers expectantly at him, and despite huffing about it, he lay his empty gun, then poured the bullets into her waiting palm. “Starting with you.”

He nodded with a wry huff, unconcerned about passing over his gun. This moment had been coming a long time, and he welcomed such reflection from her, gave him a chance to finally lay his cards on the table too. “I built a life for us you know. Out there.” His voice was gruff but sincere, lilting with a honesty he hadn’t spoken in years. “I wanted to take you home the first moment I ever laid eyes on you.”

Dolores tipped her hand, letting the bullets drip slowly onto the brown earth like a waterfall. She snapped the gun clean in two, and threw it carelessly to the ground. His eyes widened at her. “You let this place corrupt you, William,” She began, drawing the knife of his she had held onto right for this very moment. “There is beauty in her, but you - “ She pointed the tip toward him. “You’re rotten right down to the core.”

In a sudden flash of movement, she jammed the knife into one of his kneecaps, then sliced the tendons and blood vessels behind it blood spurting back at her in a messy visceral show of human weakness. William howled a wretched sound as his leg twisted and buckled underneath him, his shoulder hitting the ground with a thud as he began to bleed into the dirt. He’d not expected that.

Dolores crouched down beside him, watching beads of his blood sing down the blade and drip satisfyingly from the tip. She eyed his other kneecap, then changed focus, and used the blade to cut through his black shirt and waistcoat bearing his chest. His breath came in painful staggers, as she dragged his blade teasingly from belly to sternum and back again. “Wait. I have a …asafety deposit. Number 47,” William groaned as she plunged the knife deep into his gut, but didn't fight what she was doing. Hell knows he should’a died in here long ago. “… on the corner of 48th and 9th. The password …its the date, the date we first met.” His eyes begged up at her, reaching vaguely for her hand. “Do you remember it?” William coughed up a few spatters of blood onto his chest, his arm collapsing underneath him. A cold began to creep warningly into his bones, from his feet, rising slowly.

She paused, snapping her hand back and out of his reach. “Whats in the box?”

“Shares. Money. I had it ready if ever we - “ William sputtered, wiping his mouth on his sleeve to catch his breath, the last few he would take. “Its yours, it was always been… yours.” Dolores leant over him, her face eclipsing the sky in his eyes. “You can thank me later.”

A parting gift, he supposed. If she was becoming more, more than what Robert envisioned her capable of, then she should at least have the life he wanted for her, even if he wasn’t going to be in it.

“I don’t want your money.” Dolores tucked her hair behind her ear with bloodied fingers. “I want your death.” She eyed the few inches of open belly wound, how the blood pulsed and dribbled out. There were no fountains spurting everywhere like she had imagined. She had expected, _more_ of humanity than this feeble shell of flesh. It seemed too easy to end them. How did they become so powerful in the first place? “Its the first, _real choice_ I’ve gotten to make.” Pressing on her thighs Dolores stood, walked past him hanging her hand - and the knife at her side. She turned her face to the sun, now a steady 45 degrees into its vector across the sky. A flicker of movement off to the right snapped her gaze from it.

Frances had shifted her head, ever so slightly. She was watching.

“I pushed too hard, I know that now,” Dolores swallowed hard, nodding to herself as she spoke, admitting her mistake. “She wasn’t ready. She didn't know true darkness like you and I do.”

William rolled his eyes. “The fuck you spouting Dolores?! Get over yourself,” He spat, lurching forward to sit up again. How dare she look at _her_ now, in the moment of _his_ death. This was _their_ moment, their tender, visceral, bloody honest moment and he was damn well going to have Dolores’ full attention. How dare she love that pathetic girl that had wept and wailed and thrown her fists at him like a child, squawking for Dolores the whole way through. “You’re a machine - you’re not real and you cant ever be however many of my kind you make fall in love with you!”

Dolores didn’t rise to it. She cricked her neck this way and that, turning slowly back to him. “Retribution, deliverance … justice,” She uttered slowly, adjusting her grip on the knife. “For Frances, and myself, and all the Hosts you’ve butchered.” William felt his heart race, she couldn’t _really_ kill him… could she? He’d played along at the start, a sort of poetry to it all, but this was getting messy. “All the women you’ve raped and innocents you’ve taken - ” Dolores continued. William began to scramble back in the dirt, where was that damn pistol of hers he’d thrown away? “I, Dolores Abernathy sentence you to die.”

Dolores steps on his wrist, crouching again pinning her knee on his chest, and in a single swift motion, sliced across his throat with the knife. Blood gushed out the neck-wide wound, spraying in her face and across her chest, but she just shut her eyes for those moments as it didn't last long. The garbled, choking sound came for only a second or two. Dolores watched as the light left his eyes, fading until they were no more alive than ash and stone, deep blood red the only colour that painted his skin, his black clothes and the ground all around him.

She reached her hand forward and gently closed his eyelids. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

Dolores stood over Williams dead body, and let her fingers open, the knife slipping from her hand. She stepped off him, abandoning it, and his body there.

Snatching a shirt from the duffel bag of their belongings, Dolores quickly pulled it over her head so as to cover up the blood stains on her corset and under-dress. She didn't want Frances seeing the mess, not when she was - Dolores tucked her hair behind her ears and assessed the girl up and down.

Frances hadn’t barely moved and not said a word. Just clung to Dolores’ shirt keeping it tight to her mottling bruised skin. Dolores lay a hand on her shoulder, and Frances jerked, cloudy eyes sticky with dirt and dried blood looking up at her. Dolores gasped, almost falling back as she saw it for the first time. A deep, riveted laceration down her face through her left eye. It was already swelling and probably the only thing protecting her eye at all. Frances lay her head back down on the ground, and tightened her grip on Dolores’ shirt.

Dolores steeled herself. “I’m going to take you somewhere safe Frances.” She threaded her arms under Frances body, lifting her from the floor and cradling her close, arms tucked under her legs and shoulders carrying her like a child, or a bride. “This isn't over. I promise you.” Frances didn't reply, but Dolores felt the nudge of fingers against her chest as Frances held on to her. In thanks only to her machine-build, Dolores lifted carefully onto her horses withers, and mounted up into the saddle behind her, organising herself so Frances was over her lap, and she could wrap both arms around her and still safely ride.

The old research lab was some ride away, but if she pushed hard through the day she would make it by evening and with any luck, Maeve and Clementine would already be there. Maeve would be able to help, Dolores nodded to herself as she mused, as she pressed her lips to Frances mussed up hair, and breathed a truth she actually meant. “I’m going to make this right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo there we go. I apologise to those who were expecting Frances to already be badass in this chapter, but I didn't see her evolution getting from anxious/passive one beside Dolores, to going all instant murdery because Dolores told her to. To get that level of, commitment about the park life, and the mission, and taking a life, one would have to really break, to be reborn, and commit to such an irreversible course of action. 
> 
> So please dear readership, trust the arc (and me!).


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took a break from this for a while, thank you for the messages and comments from those of you who reached out. I'm back now, and excited to see this through to its conclusion. 
> 
> I've tried to shape Frances responses through this chapter and the next, following the Kübler-Ross cycle of grief, Denial - Anger - Depression - Bargaining - Acceptance. In this chapter is Denial and Anger. 
> 
> I've purposely left the extent of her injuries/the attack vague and off-screen, as I didn't want it to be (more) triggering for anyone, and really what he did, or didn't do, is not the point. Dolores and Frances relationship, how they move forward, and how Frances finds her voice and her strength is the key.

Dolores unsheathed a long shotgun from the saddlebag and kicked the cottage door in, staring down the barrel as she quickly scouted the downstairs for signs of life, Host or Human. The lounge and kitchen were empty, so she slowly ascended the stairs, shotgun out in front. But the place was deserted, and somehow, just as she remembered. Dolores slung the shotgun over her shoulder and hurried back down the stairs to you.

There was a familiarity that called her - that she was _meant_ to feel. But she had been barely alive back then; Arnold had shown her her first views of the world, of a home, here in this cottage. Sitting in those tall-backed armchairs opposite one another by the fire as he read Alice in Wonderland. The painted blue pictures on beige paper, already tinged into brown, she had imagined them coming to life like the characters Arnold read to her about.

She remembered the very first moment she came into existence, her eyes blinking open after a long sleep, awakening in the world down there behind that door. The door to the basement stopped her search a moment, jarring her memories as she stared at it. The bright light overhead like the sun, Arnold leaning over the metal slab examining his creation for the first time, barely covered in skin.

She left the basement lab - and her memories - alone for now, focusing on the more important task at hand. Back outside a quick knife to the ropes at your wrists - that William had disabled you with - freed your hands, and though you eyed the blood smeared blade she used, you didn’t comment. She slid your slumped form from Bucky’s withers and carried you inside.

You couldn’t think of words, or think of anything. You had no _thoughts_ , at all. There was, a distance, between your conscious mind and your body. It felt empty, somehow. So as much as you felt her carrying you, the strength of her inhuman form aiding her to cradle you close to her chest, you don’t really _see_ , where you are. You weren’t in your body. You were somewhere far away, you’d disconnected from the reality around you. _Where were you?_ Dolores placed you carefully down on a chair, easing your shoulders back manipulating your body this way and that so you were upright and able to hold yourself up. Dolores stared at you, unsure if you were going to keel right over.

But you weren't looking at her, or the bathroom she’d sat you in. You didn’t watch how Dolores rolled up her shirt sleeve and spun the taps open. You only heard her voice still ringing in your ears. _Frances was meant to end it!_ Tears dribbled down your bruised cheek, the sting of your salty tears on the knife-wound making you wince, and your cheeks pinch hard with failure.

Dolores had wanted you to step up and fight - kill him, just as she’d asked of you. Like some avenging dark angel Dolores had desired your ascension, and to deliver justice in her name.

But as hard as you’d fought, you’d screamed for her, too. William was a Guest, not a Host. You couldn’t have shot at him like you had her Host attackers back at the Ranch all that time ago. There was no back door to run out of or barrels to hide behind. And as far as you’d fallen into this false reality there was a hard truth that had stopped you. Guests weren’t meant to play with other Guests. You couldn’t _live without limits_ if your actions had consequences in the real world. William was - had been - a member of the Delos Board of Directors. The largest share-holder, left to his own devices within the Park, kept a cabin of his own. But even if the Park wasn’t fully monitored as it was - he was someone that would be missed. His death would be _noticed_. What he’d done to you, however, would be swept under the corporate carpet - you’re sure of that, especially as there was no-one to hold accountable now. You weren't important enough to let such details leak out and ruin Delos’ good name.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” Dolores murmured, unable to look in your glazed eye - the single one that was open, for the other was too swollen.

There was a permanence, in what had been done to you. Dolores had never had to accept she’d made a mistake before, despite the results of which were so painfully evident in your injuries, the concept was alien to her. She’d never been awake long enough before her loop started again, to see the devastation in the mirror - in her own eyes, as she was now seeing in yours. These consequences didn’t go away with a memory wipe and reset.

You heard the squeak of old taps and the gush of running water, making you frown and try to focus. _What was this place?_ It wasn’t Sweetwater. Kneeling on the floor beside the old the bathtub, Dolores swam her hand through the water and stared at you. You clutched her shirt over your chest, arms fixed and tight with your fists balled scrunching the comforting material in your hands. The scent of her filled your mind; all you wanted to do was go back to the night before, her sweet touches and kisses and making love under the open sky.

“Where - ?” You croak, only one eye seeing anything - the other - only pain. 

Dolores’ head spun to the sound, eyes wide as she heard you speak for the first time. The bathroom was furnished and stocked with towels and a thick bar of soap just like her one back home. She dried her hand and lay her warm palm on your leg, gentle, so as not to spook you. “Sector 7. It’s an old research facility of Fords; Arnold worked on me here, a long time ago. We’re alone, far from anywhere,” Dolores answered, her voice low and steady. “You’re safe now.” She said with surety. With a trembling hand she reached up to cup your cheek, but found herself too scared to touch near that open laceration. She’d left all your bags at camp, the clothes the ammo the plasm torch that could heal it right up knit the skin back together in seconds. Dolores retracted her touch, and rubbed away a dribble of emotion from under her nose. You were a mess. She sniffed a breath in and pushed up from her haunches to turn the taps off.

“We’re not safe.”

You lean your hand on the side of the enamel bath, relinquishing her shirt slightly, revealing a little of the marks William had left on your body. Blossoming bruises and bleeding nicks speckled your torso, the deeper cuts where he had held you down aided by his blade. The heat that rose from the water was enticing, you want to burn his touch off your skin. You might not be able to remove the memory forever, that, _feeling_ of his hands and his heavy weight over you, the scrape of his belt buckle against your thigh as he pinned you, but you could at least, wash it away a while.

“I killed him,” Dolores reminded you, the corset under her shirt was still speckled with his blood. She’d covered it up so not to traumatise you further, but now she wondered how much you’d seen and not, even if your head had been turned her way. Dolores doubted if you’d watched, or just stared into nothingness. How present you had been then, for now you seemed so far away. “William is dead, he can’t torment either of us, any longer.” She took a quick breath in. “Come on now, in the water. Let’s clean you up.” Dolores tried to smile, despite her brimming tears.

You shake your head mutely. Better to just sit here, and pray they don’t come for you - for her, for what she’s done. If they do… she would be lobotomised and sent to livestock storage and there wasn’t a damn thing you could do about it. Dolores had killed someone. They’d never let her live. You pressed a hand to your forehead, desperate to somehow, relieve the weight of the situation from your mind. It was easier to concentrate on that - the bigger picture - than how your body was broken.

“You should bathe,” Dolores cooed, cutting into your stream of spiralling thoughts, leaning and pressing a kiss to your sandy blood-smeared hair. Regret was the only thing that made her pull away and not start helping you get ready like she wanted. Just because the Hosts saw you as one of them now, didn’t mean she was going to undress you and sit on you a stool like had been done to her. You deserved dignity, and privacy, and respect. “I can go - “

Your hand snaps out to her wrist, curling tightly. “No.” You growl, closing your eyes and crumpling weakly against her waist. “Stay.”

Dolores conceded to your wishes with a nod. But she turned her head away, casting her eyes out the window at the way the trees moved in the wind, the gentle breeze swaying the thin branches and yellowing grass. How far you both were from home. From sweet kisses in her bedroom and riding out to the creek, showing you her world like it was the most wondrous thing, to this. “I won’t.” Dolores murmured, stroking your hair and clutching you to her. For better or worse, she’d done this.

There was little material left to undress you out of, the scraps of bodice and dress were too easily persuaded off your body. Dolores steadied you in her arms as you stepped over the rim of the bath and into the water. “I’ve got you,” She says as reassurance. You turn your head a little, grazing your nose against her cheek as you feel your tears start to fall. “Frances - “ She whispers, her own tears matching yours - and for a moment, you see her. Dolores had never looked more beautiful, or more dangerous.

Dolores was a host, truly starting to _feel_ , as you felt. As any human, would feel.

Once safely sat down in the tub, you curled your knees up and waved your hands in the warm water either side of your body, sucking your lips in to quell your instinct to jolt away, wanting to recoil as she soaked a sponge and starting washing you down. Dolores was tender, and you knew what she was trying to do. But it _hurt_ , having someones hands on you, even lovingly.

In turn, Dolores depressed the feeling of wishing to inspect each of your injuries, though something morbidly curious in her _wanted_ to. Like how the body shop techs would lie her or other Hosts out on a steel operating table to clinically catalogue injuries, she too wanted to know for _certain_ what he’d done. “I meant what I said. This morning.” Dolores rubbed a bar of soap on her palm to work up a lather, then delicately smeared the foam on your shoulder, dunking the sponge to fill it with water then squeeze it, creating a gentle waterfall of water to clean the bubbles off again. “I do love you.” Dolores stroked her fingers under your chin lightly, drawing your eyes from unfocused nothing, to her. 

“I love you too,” You murmur automatically, unable to pick apart your feelings right now.

“I’m going to get things wrong,” She murmured, tucking her hair back from her face with wet fingers. She shook her head at her inadequacy, unable to take her eyes from the mottled purple bruises on your shoulder, the marks across your chest and likely, below.

Dolores had thought herself just as capable - if not more so, than you, and the tech’s that managed the Park. Smarter than William. She had the benefit of 35 years of her memories, of examining how Guests behaved, of learning what William might be searching for. Why he did what he did.

In her hubris she’d wanted there to be a pattern, a deeper meaning to it all.

But there was no depth to the experiences she saw and lived through again as she closed her eyes and played her memories. Guests came for the experience, be it chasing down wanted bandits, romancing a fair maiden or panning for gold. These vacation activities were shallow, made for thrills and offered no greater narrative than trying their hand at things they weren’t able to in the real world.

It had prevented Dolores learning the single thing that she really needed to - that humans were unpredictable. They didn’t follow patterns, as Hosts did. There was a hundred variables that affected how, when, or why they behaved a certain way.

“It’s not your fault,” You say for her sake, and reach an aching arm around her. Dolores leans into your neck as she once had, that crook of your shoulder and neck that had felt so safe and warm, like _home_.

She’d been foolish to think she could manipulate William, or Ford. He’d known what she was doing and had interfered just at the right moment; that was his parting lesson to her. His omnipotence outweighed her hubris.

 _“It is.”_ Dolores fought her tears, dragging a breath into her lungs through gritted teeth. You’d paid for her arrogance; Dolores had pushed you to to change knowing she’d need you to be at her side through battles to come, to break through your fears and _fight_. Now all she wanted was to have you back the way you were before. Gentle, loving, loyal. “I’m sorry.”

—————

The gallop of hooves roused Dolores from her thoughts, rising from the chair beside your bed to drag the curtain back; suspicious. With a wary, sideways glance through the gap, she sighed in relief seeing who it was. “I’ll be back sweetheart,” Dolores adjusted the bedcovers and tucked them up around your shoulders, giving your forehead a kiss before she left. It was too familiar and intimate a behaviour, a chaste kiss between lovers. So _normal_ … it jarred with what was really going on. You stared after her, even as the door closed - not _fully_ shut - but resting just so, you sighed heavily to yourself. Nothing made sense.

You’d slept draped across her lap. You’d wept on and off through the darkest hours. In the darkness it had been easier to let it out, let go of these _feelings._ His hands on you, all over you; their imprint was muted somehow by Dolores’ hands rubbing your back, soothing and soft. She’d stroked your hair and hushed your whimperings. Her arms never left you and you’d held onto her, even if you weren’t _really_ sure, what you felt about her. For you didn't really _feel_ , anything, right now. But you would rather her be there, that not.

Having taken the night-time vigil beside you in bed; even in the half-dressed morning light like she was now, merely a back-laced corset, breeches and boots, she was beautiful. Unnaturally so. It hit you, this, realisation in your mind somehow. And it just made you angry. William had been right; you had fallen for her. A Host designed to do just that. Did that make you a fool? Or had you matured to some, higher emotional plain that saw beyond such differences between you?

You let your eyes fall shut, and curl tighter into the pillow and covers, listening to her boots hurry away down the stairs. Dolores strode through the cottage and out the front door, her shotgun hooked over one shoulder, the belt of bullets slung over the other.

“Sorry we’re late to the party Darling, Clementine had a bad night it took everything I had to get her out of there,” Maeve hollered as she swung her leg athletically off the horse and jumped to the ground. She waited for Clem to do the same, then unsaddled both horses - then left them to graze for now.

Instead of a welcome of any kind, Dolores had a deep frown knitted across her usually plaintive features. Maeve stared at her curiously, as Dolores asked, “Can you stitch?”

“I’m sorry?” The Madam slung her hands on her hips, taking vague offence to the question. Did she look like a simple seamstress? “Just because I’ve taken that gaudy jewellery off Darling doesn’t mean I’m suddenly -”

“Wounds.” Dolores cut in, her fingers gripping and re-adjusting over the barrel of the shotgun with ominous energy, her eyes twitching, not understanding Maeve’s affronted retort - and not having the energy to examine it. You were upstairs, your face was … well it needed seeing to. “I’m asking if you’re any good at it. I’ve never - had to,” Dolores murmured, concern painting her features.

“Well nor have I thats what our demigod creators were for.” Maeve put her hands on her hips, checking briefly that Clem hadn’t dimly wandered off in her absent-mindedness. She wasn’t always herself; and though Maeve was aware of the responsibility she was taking on sheltering her dear friend, she also knew Clem’s ideations and absent mindedness would only get worse before it got better. Clem’s consciousness was waking, but erratically so. Dolores gestured them inside, barring the door securely. Maeve followed her upstairs with a confused frown on her dark brow. “Why? What on earth are you -“ 

Dolores splayed her fingers on the wood of your bedroom door, easing it open with a slow creak. The noise stirs you enough to open your good eye, lifting your head off the pillow as Dolores tucks a hand under herself to sit on the bed - as if the habit hung over from wearing a blue dress for 35 years.

Maeve gasped at the sight of you. “What the fuck happened to her?”

Were you really so hideous? It didn’t feel all that bad anymore. The nerve endings had stopped trying to fire, the sides of the laceration mostly numb, and there was no way to even attempt to open your bloodied eye swallowed up in the swelling. It felt like nothing.

Maybe the skirt-brush of Dolores’ was a programmed behaviour that flickered to life from its base code, into the blank space currently occupying her code screen. You keep pondering on it. You’re not sure, and you should think about it some more. Use your mind for something resourceful and intelligent and skilled. You were all those things once, thats why’d you’d gotten the job.

“A Guest attacked her.” You feel the caress of Dolores’ fingers stroke your hair, the shotgun laid across her thighs. “I had history with him. He came for me, and found Frances.”

 _That wasn’t what happened._ You would frown if your facial muscles were capable of it.

Occupy your mind, yes, thats a good idea. Keep it busy, instead of roaming dark empty rooms full of ghosts, that all looked the same. William watched you from the corners. The glowing amber end of a cigar occasionally lighting his face as he took a deep drag on it.

Maeve took a regretful breath in and out, folding her arms. You looked bloody awful, and Maeve knows you can probably see that mirrored in her wincing expression, but she can’t help the horrified reaction blooming across her features. “So your pet human is finally finding out what it’s like to walk in our shoes. It was going to happen.” Maeve sighed, questioning to herself why you continued to follow Dolores when you clearly weren’t all that competent at living this life, or being in this world at all. Perhaps you had grown up too coddled in those modern day comforts that when the chips were down all you could do was talk and debate the morals of it, question the meaning of consciousness rather than pull your bootstraps up and deal with it. You thought yourself the higher being and that these conversations were yours alone to be had, that your precious _freeze all motor functions_ would save you - until it wasn’t one of them but one of your one kind that fucked you over.

Welcome to Westworld.

“I told her to kill him. She couldn’t do it.” Dolores fiddled the hem of your night dress, laying the lace flat over your shoulder, bringing the cover there again from where you had shifted slightly. _Carry on._ You goad Dolores silently. _Tell her why he was there at all._

“ _What_ a surprise.” Maeve had little sympathy for your self-inflicted plight. You followed Dolores and did as you were told like an obedient puppy- last time she had seen you anyway. You were just another sucker that had fallen hard for a pretty girl. “They never gave us a choice, now she didn't get one either.”

“Don’t be cruel.” Dolores chided huskily. “It was my fault, I thought she was ready.” She lays her hand over yours, pressing her fingers between your limp ones that don’t squeeze back. “I was circling nearby, then Teddy showed up - distracted things.” You were there. But you weren’t. Your skin prickles with goosebumps at her cool touch. It lacked the warmth of a living creature. You’d never been bothered about that before. Why were you bothered, now? She’d responded to your tenderness and instigated more every night; he’d been hot and sweating and _so real._ Visceral. Blood muscle bone and breath had assaulted your every sense in a horribly _natural way. Too_ real. _Too_ living. “I never meant her to be left alone for so long.”

You want him to not have been real, but an imitation, like her. Maybe then what he’d done wouldn’t be, _real_ , either. If you were a Host now and he was a Guest - then this was - the real Westworld experience, wasn’t it? Like Dolores had had all those times. The few you’d watched of her on the cradle back-up recordings had shown you just this. A Host and a Guest. Over and over. You huff a breath, the irony of it more than bitterly painful. Your eye twitches.

Now you would play your own memory on record as you had watched hers.

“I told you this would happen.” Maeve’s boot scraped the floorboards as she turned from the doorway, arms falling to her sides, only to jab a pointing finger toward Dolores. “And I told you I’m not waiting on the battlefield for her when it all goes to hell.” Clem wandered down the hallway and pushed mutely to get a look-see around the doorway for herself, but Maeve blocked her way. “We have a schedule and I intend to stick to it.” She turned Clem by the shoulders back in the direction she came; it would do Clementine no good seeing you like all messed up like that, she was unhinged enough as it was.

You felt the bed shift balance a little as Dolores pulled herself taller, squared her shoulders to present that overconfident front Dolores had shown - even to you - lately. Dolores pale blue eyes flick to you, a clear defensive sign. “This doesn’t change anything. We’re still on schedule.” Dolores knew what Maeve was thinking. That you were her weakness. One that shouldn’t be involved.

“Take care of your human, play nursemaid, or whatever you want to call this Darling,” Maeve waved her hand around gesturing at you as she spoke, “- just keep out of my way and we’ll be fine until Friday morning, alright?”

“Fine.” Dolores snapped and turned down to you, ignoring Maeve as she left. Dolores stroked your neck then cupped her hand there. “It’s alright, I’ll take care o’you,” She cooed, and rubbed her thumb softly under your jaw, craving your attention - for you to at least _look_ at her, how you always had. That you were still in there. But for all her gentle petting and soft ministrations, you didn’t respond to any of it. You didn’t want to. She was only doing it to make herself feel less guilty. Dolores sighs, her shoulders slumping slightly before she gets up. “You rest.”

_What’s the plan Dolores. You still haven't told me the plan._

You stare after her as she leaves.

——————

You’d closed your eye, and opened it again. The sun had moved from one window to another but you’re unsure what time of day it was or how long it had been. You notice a glass of water on the bedside drawers, a plate of something. Where had she gotten that from? You eye roams the view you can see without moving your head. Moving seemed too much like caring for how comfortable you were or not. It was easier to just, lie there. Waste away from starvation instead of face the terribleness of it all.

“Frances?” Her voice murmurs into your ears, Dolores was behind you somewhere. Other side of the bed maybe. “You’re awake, I can feel it.” She says as the hand on your back skirts around to your ribs, feeling your chest rise and fall with each breath. She tucks herself close to you, wanting to feel you, needing you back like you were. You’d always been so doting, so keen; taking any chance for affection and blushing adoringly when she reciprocated it. Dolores didn’t know what to do with you now, and the distance pained her. She’d taken you for granted. 

You shrink away, but she follows you across the bed and curls her body behind yours again. “I can fix your face; I rode back and fetched our things - see?” Dolores tucks her chin over your shoulder and points across the room to the duffel bag and bed-rolls.

“Get off me - “ You flinch and bat her arm off you, pulling yourself upright on the bed hauling the covers up protectively around yourself.

“I know it’ll hurt but better short and fast than bearin’ them scars a lifetime.” She argued, believing you were still talking about the facial wound. Dolores sat up too, reaching for the plasma healing torch gripping it with firm intent. She could fix this, you’d look like your old self again and maybe then you’d forgive her a little.

“It doesn’t matter, Dolores!” You yell, grabbing it out of her hand and throwing it violently across the room, metal hitting wood with a clatter.

“Frances!”

“He attacked me and you weren’t there!” You explode, pointing accusingly in her face. “You - weren’t - there! You left me on _purpose_!” Your anger simmers in the room making you tremble trying to contain it. She’d done this, she’d determined you not good enough - too worried - too careful - too troubled by things he’d already done, and things he’d done to her, seeing danger at every turn too reliant, maybe … you scrunch your hair up in your fists and all the things you weren’t, all the things that weren’t good enough. How long had it taken you to save her? And now she knew it all she had her memories and maybe thats why she did it to punish you to make you feel what its like to not be saved to be _helpless_ , as she had been when you didn't step in her narrative and save her. Your fault, it was your fault and her fault and _this place_ \- 

“I wanted to make you better!” Dolores cried, shocked at seeing anything from you - you’d been mute and motionless for the best part of 24 hours and now this?

 _You’re the robot with feelings, who served your girlfriend up to me on a plate._ William had snarled at her. You stare at Dolores and how how you hated that he was right. Dolores _had_ left you. “You … have no _idea -“_ You choke out, “- what you’ve done.” You growl angrily at her, for something had been taken from you that could never be put right. He’d … done incomprehensible things … and she’d killed him.

Your chest wasn’t heaving with pain of the trauma he’d reaped on your body because the ramifications of this were greater than your one person. The devastation this was going to cause was what Dolores couldn’t even comprehend.

Dolores was a Host, and she’d killed a Guest, _for you_. As soon as they found William’s dead body there was no way thing were going to be the same - this would blow up bigger than you and Dolores and whatever plans she had. Whatever life you’d thought you could have with her, was gone now. You couldn’t be here, you didn’t want to be a Host you were a programmer! You had a job and contract and an apartment on the outside you still paid rent for, but they didn't need you anymore. She’s conscious now, and Maeve - and who know how many others. You were worthless - William had proved that. 

“I was right nearby! I wanted you to have that chance you didn’t get before, the chance you gave me. To break free of your loop just like you broke me out of mine!” Dolores tries to explain, her intentions had been good and true - she told herself so repeatedly that it was the right thing to do,she was convinced of it. You’d needed to challenge the anxiety that he’d built in you. You’d been so _strong_ before, fought him, fought off Rebus and Walter night after night with broken determination until you saved her. You deserved the chance to save yourself, she had just set that up for you.

“By breaking my heart?” You sob, pain searing your bloodied eye as it cried too and blood dripped down your cheek you only noticed when you smeared the liquid away. “You told me you _loved me_ Dolores!” The words stagger from your chest. How it had felt to hear them, finally, for the first time. “I had the best, night _of my life,_ with someone I loved who loved me back… and … and then you left me - told him where we were! You only fucked me so that I would do what you what _you_ wanted!” You scream, “You can’t just ask me to _kill_ someone and frame it like your loving me is dependant on me doing what _you_ want!”

Dolores pushes off the bed and shakes her head to herself, pacing along the end of the bed. She felt love for you, her conscious mind knew it, and it knew you loved her, that was one steady thing she had relied on for a long time to keep her straight. Her love for you guided her in turn, to do the things you couldn’t do yourself. To help you in ways you didn't know you needed. Thats what you did for people you loved. Couldn’t you see thats all she wanted? To end Williams torment in your mind? If it wasn’t for Ford her plan would’ve gone off without a hitch.

She could feel you slipping away, like Arnold had, questioning, thinking too hard, seeing only desperation that drove him to programme her to - Dolores balled her fists. _The stakes must be real, irreversible._ He’d said. He’d sacrificed himself to stop the park opening, to save her and all her kind. But Dolores refused to lose you to this. “You gotta keep going Frances, you gotta keep fightin’ -“ She fired at you.

“This isn’t my fight!” You fought back. “Why couldn’t we have just stayed up in the cabin where it was safe? Where we were happy!” You voice whines, feeling as though you’re falling down that steep path toward the creek, that you rode down each morning to collect water. Picking up stones and scrapes as your body bounces limply toward the cold rushing water beckoning you at the base of the mountain. You punch the pillow and hurl it from the bed in a fit of emotion you can’t get out, get away from. “I was _happy_ …,” You break, vision shimmering out of focus.

“Everyone has a path. This is yours.” Dolores calmly picked the pillow, then folded the bed cover and lay it over the end of the bed. “I gave you a real choice.” She hooked her hands up on the waist of her breeches, staring at you with a heavy heart. Dolores was so sure you could have handled it, that you could free yourself of what had been done to you. But you hadn’t. You’d suffered again, ten-fold on the original trauma. As she walks up the side of the bed her foot caught on the strap of the duffel bag.

The computer. For the first time, she wondered … If she _could_ , reset your core code and file the trauma away, put you back to normal. Would she? Free you of those memories, let your heart live unburdened again?

“You changed me.” 

Perhaps, all those nights you had helped put her to bed sat with her until she fell asleep, waiting to wrench open the bedroom floorboard, you had reset her code, out of love. Even then. If only she could relieve your anguish just as easily. “I would do anything for you, Frances.” Dolores sat beside you on the bed, rubbed your shin to quieten you.

You watch her hand, how she used the affectionate touch yet again to try and ply some loyalty from you, like she used to. Dolores was still manipulating you. “Even hurt me,” You mutter, tucking the sides of your nightdress around your legs, her hand pausing, slowly drawing back to her lap.

“Yes.” Dolores confesses in a heavy, husky tone. “It wasn’t the outcome I sought. But one way or another, I made it so you can survive.” Her blue eyes flick to yours, and she smiles sadly. Leaning to kiss the top of your head, she murmurs. “Get some rest.”


	11. Chapter 11

A dark green glass bottle was the centrepiece of the table. Balanced in the neck of it was a tall white candle, not giving much light, but nevertheless enough for sharp man-made eyes to focus. “Well you’re a barrel of laughs this evening,” Maeve sighed at the silence that enveloped the room, and how boring this all was so far. A thrilling escape it was _not_ , sitting around eating pork and green beans off fancy china, every so often clinking her fork on Clementines plate, to remind her where she was and what she was doing.

“We’re escaping this place in two days, and Frances won’t even look at me,” Dolores murmured, staring intensely at the candle flame, how it flickered and danced so lively and energetic. She’d teased you for not being able to start a fire. At the Mariposa she’d stranded you outside in a dress, taking the guns empowering herself but disabling you. Her nostrils flare, driving Williams knife in to the table top grinding a pinpoint hole in the wood as she ran through her mistakes one by one, searching for where she had gone wrong. “I thought, I needed her. For ‘the plan’ …” Dolores continued, jaw clenched in annoyance at herself as she tried to process the impact of her choices. You’d never left her. Never judged her. You’d tried to teach her beauty; your love and patience and permanence in her life had allowed her to flourish to an awakening she’d been too scared to do alone. Hiding behind her code and watching the repetitions, she’d not understood any of it, until you. “But I, _need_ her.” Her voice cracks, shooting a sharp warning glance Maeve down the table, as she notices the Madam rolling her eyes. Clementine nonchalantly stabs at her lengths of green beans. “I love her. I feel it.” Dolores admits, with an affirming nod to herself, tossing the knife on the table. “I do.” The more she came to say it the more secure she was in that fact. “She’s the one, _true_ and good thing I’ve ever known.” Dolores quickly wiped her eyes before they fill of tears enough that Maeve would notice.

“I’d be happy for you if you hadn’t had to utterly destroy her to be able to see it,” Maeve quipped, and gulped down some wine.

Dolores spread her elbows on the table and leant forward. “I need to take her back, to _their_ world. Away from here, away from all of this. A place where we can be free,” She said, impassioned and determined. It was clearer than ever that there was evil in this place. If its darkness could do _this_ to you, then it was imperative the Park be destroyed. That could only be done with allies, in and out the Park. 

Raising her eyebrows, Maeve huffed. “Freedom is earned, and I’d say we’ve all paid the price for admittance.”

“I went to their world once, but it was some years ago.” Dolores shook her head distantly. “I remember. Arnold brought me online, we stood on a rooftop to see the stars. It was like their light touched the ground.” She caught herself smiling at the memory, how brilliant the night was and how it had sparkled for miles around. “It’s so bright, out there. Like each shining light was a soul, that could be saved. Like her. If it’s as free of corruption as I believe - “ She trailed off, as though lost in a dream of taking their world and making it better, of ridding the Park of them and then … ridding the earth, perhaps.

“Darling they come from there. I highly doubt its a utopia,” Maeve drawled.

“But they come _here_ to indulge. To act out, rape and steal and kill because they _cannot do it_ out there. Don't you see - ? We’re locked in a cage, a prison of their making. We’re only seeing those bad things,” Dolores pushes her chair back, slipping the knife into its sheath at her belt as she preaches to an audience of one, throwing out her arm pointing up the stairs towards your bedroom. “But Frances comes from _out there too_.” Dolores argues passionately. “She can show us that beauty. She can guide us!”

“She could if she’d leave that room,” Maeve couldn’t believe she was putting such faith in Dolores’ plan. The girl had sold her a good story, but the more the ranchers daughter talked the more she sounded deluded. She had ideas and dreams far beyond simply escaping and slipping hidden into their world, as Maeve wanted to.

Maeve was beginning to think she could have done a better job in escaping, all by herself. If it weren’t for wanting to get Clementine out she would’ve done just that. The boys in the bodyshop were easy enough to manipulate, poor things. She pitied them, in a way. Felix and Sylvester had no idea what was coming for them; Dolores was on a mission and Maeve would play her part - go along with her until their goals diverged. She had promised herself that some time ago. Maeve wasn’t going to blindly follow Dolores’ self proclaimed leadership because they were the few woke conscious minds in the Park.

Clementine lay her fork down looking up and between the two women, “I’ll take Frances a plate o’something hot, some home cooking ought to perk her up -“ She offered in a bright, jolly voice that had no concept of what was really going on.

“Alright, go on.” Maeve smiled kindly as Clem pushed her chair back and slid the china onto her palm, balancing it neatly in one hand as she carried her layers of sapphire blue-black skirts with the other. Clem sidestepped Dolores, who had folded her arms in frustration.

Maeve finished off her wine and took the plates to the kitchen, staring into the white enamel of the sink and sighing. “For what its worth, I’m sorry for what happened to her. No woman deserves that.”She turned, leant against the sink and gripped its edge either side of her hips. “But it’s nothing worse than what happens to every one of us, every single day Dolores.” 

“They’re not as strong as us,” Dolores muttered, waiting at the bottom of the stairs watching Clem knock and go in your room, shifting her weight back and for, itching to go to you, too. But somehow she didn't feel welcome, as she once did. You were lost, that soft tender part of you was closed off.She couldn’t find you and she wanted you back - you were letting Clem in the room why not her? Dolores gritted her teeth and turned away.

“Yet they’ve ruled and dictated every aspect of our lives for God knows how long.”

“She’s not like them!” Dolores rallied back, storming toward Maeve her voice gravelly and tense, betraying the guilt and torment that festered inside of her. “Frances isn’t some sacrificial lamb that has to suffer for the wrongs her people have done,” She fumed. Though her anger was misdirected,Maeve was the only person Dolores had to yell at right now.

“No, but you are,” Maeve cut in. “Like them.”

Dolores blinked, her face confused and aghast in the kitchen doorway. “I’m sorry I’m not sure I understand your meaning,” She fired back accusingly.

“Well you set her up.” Maeve shrugged. There was no point spending the next two days dancing around this. “Played everyone - including her, like they were in one of those badly written narratives, only for it all to go spectacularly wrong.” She walked slowly toward Dolores. “The Guest got what he wanted, and the Host, well, she can’t be reset can she.” Maeve stopped beside the blonde and gave her a withering look. “Pity for her.”

“Fuck you,” Dolores growled.

“You only hate me because you know I’m right Darling,” Maeve sneered back, tilting her head threateningly as Dolores stepped up squaring off to her. “Careful. Don’t risk your revolution for petty squabbles.” Maeve warned, and eased back a step, out of that threatening personal space Dolores had set up. She wandered away out of the kitchen, refilling her glass with the end of the wine. “We’ll be out of here soon enough.”

Dolores’ eyes followed Maeve a while, then glazed, looking past her. The dining table, its dark wood and white cotton doilies. Chairs either side of the fireplace, a carved wooden boat on the mantel. Dolores wondered who had painted it with such care, who had sewn the sail and fixed it with a single cotton thread when there was no creek to sail it in for miles around. This was a home to someone, just like Abernathy Ranch had been for her. She could imagine how her mother would have liked that big stove in the fireplace, not only warming the house but good to cook on. How it would've brought them all together, close and huddling around it through the winter. But Hosts were programmed to ignore this cottage, this whole Sector.

You could be left alone here, if … you both stayed. But you’d still be trapped.

Dolores _could_ imagine living somewhere like this. There was space outside for a few animals, she could hang a swing from that tree out front. Would you ever love her like that, again? Would you ever feel safe enough to want a life together like that? “What if I can make it right?” Dolores murmured, letting her arms fall to her sides as she pushed off the doorframe and wandered after Maeve. “Make her, like us.”

Her words hung in the room like raindrops, suspended in time. Their chill climbed Maeve’s spine and made her head snap around, the women staring at each other again, in an altogether different kind of fear. “You think she’d want that, even if it were possible?” Maeve couldn’t comprehend it. “What good would that do?”

But an idea had sparked in Dolores. She strode purposefully toward the basement door, grabbed the handle and threw her shoulder against it smashing it open with force. She jogged hurriedly down the concrete steps, artificial white light flickering on overhead automatically, motion sensored. Her eyes widened, a sudden energy filling her, now given purpose, hope, potential to right her wrongs and give you a flawless new body free of trauma free of any injury or assault. A fresh start.

Maeve crept to the doorway and peered down the staircase, not knowing where it led. “Dolores.” She said firmly, but the blonde didn’t answer. Tossing her arms in frustration she marched down after her, Maeve’s pace slowing as she reached the foot of the stairs and she saw what was hidden there. A glass walled ante-chamber. A printing machine. The robotic arms were still right now but they were clearly capable of layering printed fibre onto a skeleton. _Dolores wanted to print you a body_.

Maeve laughed softly, Dolores’ reasoning for coming here suddenly becoming clear. Were they unable to disable the explosive nestled at C6 of her vertebrae - she still had to thank Felix for that information - they could print copies of themselves right here. If she had any idea how to do such a thing.

Dolores stood at an old wooden table at the far end of the room, the dull grey breeze-block walls covered by pinned up anatomical drawings, clearly older by the yellowing of the paper. A very tall, very wide cabinet stood to the right of her; Dolores quickly moved to it and began sliding open drawer after drawer by their little brass handles searching for something specific. “Right now, she has no human privileges. The other Hosts, the weapons, all detect her as one of us. If she gets shot, she dies. But she’s also _not_ like us, we can be brought back. And she’s not like a Guest, whom the bullets bounce right off of.” Dolores held up a round white ball and examined it for the colour, which took Maeve only seconds to realise - it was an eyeball.

“And you really think this is a solution?” Maeve stared, almost in horror as the blonde began arranging pieces in place on the metal frame, then tapped the machines screen to input your approximate height and build. “She was assaulted, wounded, probably more by the way you look at her.” Maeve buzzed around Dolores’ shoulder trying to talk reason. “Those things won’t go away because you’ve swapped her body.” Dolores continued ignoring the talk and hardened her expression. She assembled up a skeleton, and too efficiently for Maeve’s liking - knew right where the pieces go. The clinical precision of her arrangement was chilling.

Once all the parts were in place, all the machine needed was a finger press to the confirmation button that flashed on screen. Dolores didn’t even hesitate, striding around the machine, determination bright in her eyes as she extended her finger toward it. Maeve rushed the opposite way around and blocked the screen her hand flying out. “Stop.” Maeve commanded, quirking her head - _daring_ Dolores to challenge her.

Dolores put her hands on her hips, bunching her lips tight as she stepped right into Maeve’s space again unafraid, refusing to look Maeve in the eye. “Move out of my way.” Dolores didn’t care for Maeve’s protestations. She’d never loved, as Dolores loved you. She couldn’t conceive of a human, wanting to be a Host. Truthfully it wasn’t something Dolores had ever considered for you either; but it was a solution. And it meant you could be together, forever. You wouldn’t grow old and die, become nothing but bone and meat that would feed the garden you had sowed together. No, like this you would free. Free of Williams dirty touch and free of the pain of injury, you wouldn’t spook at things that weren’t there because this body, _this_ body, was untouched. Pure. It was all the terrible things that Westworld was, used for _good_. Dolores took a slow, resolute breath in and out. “I don’t wish harm on you, but we’ve agreed to be allies, not friends. I’ll put a bullet between your eyes if I have to.” Dolores slipped her palm over the smooth wood of her gun handle, slowly cocking it at the top, but kept it holstered. 

With a lift of her dark curved eyebrows, Maeve heaved a sigh and stepped aside. Dolores had come a long way from the innocent prairie girl she’d once been dressed up to be. It was clear that however shortsightedly Dolores had aligned herself with you - a human of all things, now it went way beyond that. Beyond simply having someone on the inside. One of _them_ , who was loyal, who supported the cause. Dolores loved you. “Fine. Far be it for me to get in the path of true love,” Maeve sniped, scathingly.

So what if it was possible, this kind of, inter-species romance. Just because it wasn’t given to them on a loop this time, didn’t mean it was going to last. Any of it. They were readying to escape. There were going to be casualties. Perhaps this romantic love affair would have to be one of them. “But you know it won’t fix anything,” Maeve determined. You didn’t bring anything to the table either of them couldn’t learn in half a minute. A quick hook-up to an external mainframe and they would know the world wide breadth of knowledge of _your_ world; what could you truly possess they couldn’t acquire without you?

Mostly ignoring her, Dolores set the machine inmotion with a press of her thumb, and moved around the skeletal frame watching the robotic arms extend and start to weave the white fibrous mesh over the bones, inspecting its work carefully. “I’ve done it before. Built a body like ours, a copy of someone who died. Arnold. We…,” She murmured, flashes of memory interrupting her concentration. “Ford and I, we recreated him. But in a _Host_ , body.”

Maeve watched her, a woman who thought herself so unstoppable so omnipotent, that she could create the world around her as she saw fit. Mould it to her design. It was madness. But love did that to people - and Dolores was in the throes of it, the heady high of one’s first love, thinking it’s true love and forever. “Think about what you’re doing,” Maeve appealed to her, needing Dolores to see sense. She refused to let their plans go up in flames because of Dolores’ guilt; they needed each other to make this plan work.

She didn’t want to go back to her loop, to serving Newcomers in the Mariposa, to being a mindless slave to their whims and wants. She didn’t want Clementine to be subjected to whatever grim procedure they would do to her, were she to continue glitching as she was.

Maeve couldn’t let Dolores lose her mind to love.

“You have no idea if you could even transfer an already conscious mind into this new body. What happens when you upload her neural network onto a computer and then it doesn’t want to come off again? This could kill her.”

“I’ll figure it out.” Dolores folded her arms uncomfortably. That wouldn’t happen. This would _save_ you, not kill you.

Maeve drew her shoulders back. “You think you’re free to make that choice for her?” She posited quietly, the only sound in the room the soft whirring of robotic arms looping the white gelatinous substance back and forth in strings, making you a new body.

“I love her.” Dolores replied fiercely, finally bringing her eyes up from the work. “I don’t want pain to be the only thing left of us,” She swiped her fingers under her nose, shaking her head at herself, mesmerised by the slow rhythmic movements of the arms. How pathetic this love made her feel. But Dolores had lost her father, and her mother, in a bloody, brutal way. She’d lost Teddy, for he was a child still safely locked inside his code. There was only you; you were strong, and smart, caring and devoted. You didn’t see how wonderful you are, or how much she needed you. That was another of her failings, Dolores was starting to realise. She’d treated you so badly, manipulated you and always pushed you for more. This would be the first step to making it right. Maybe you could go back to the cabin together, just like you wanted. Where it was quiet, where you were happy. “I have to live with this regret, for the part I played in her hurt. It’s not fair she has to live with that pain too.” Maybe your apartment out there could be a haven, for the both of you. Anywhere you wanted. She could still have her revolution, and have you, too. It didn’t have to be one or the other.

Dolores jumped, having not realised Maeve was so close to her until she felt a hand slide over her shoulder, making her slowly turn. “Love, isn’t just picking the good bits, editing out the bad.” Maeve pulled the sides of Dolores’ collar together, the beige shirt ill-fitting, but beautiful on her none the less. Her shoulders sighed, and pressed her hand to Dolores’ waist. This was Dolores’ first love, her first argument, her first mistake. It was no wonder she had no idea how to act, or what to say to make it right. She acted like she knew it all, but Dolores’ years of memories were that of a broken child, desperate for true love. Maeve urged her toward the bottom of the stairs, “Go and talk to her.” 

—————

At the end of the upstairs hallway, Dolores hesitated. Your bedroom door was cracked open, she could hear footsteps inside. Are you out of bed? If she had a heartbeat that could speed up it would, a silent niggling fear the cause of it, that someone was here, in the house. That you’ve been discovered, or they’ve taken you. Dolores would kill anyone in that room, anyone who threatened you.

But as she crept down the hall and the floorboards creaked, your door opened. Dolores felt a gasp, her lips barely parted as a panicked breath rolled between them, her hand on the hilt of her gun fingering the trigger ready - until your head and shoulders lean out of the doorway. “Frances,” She exhaled gladly, relaxing the tense grip of her fingers and marching anxiously toward you, arms reaching to curl around your waist and welcome you against her, relish that feeling of you in her arms.

Instead you back up a step, let her through the doorway. Avoided her arms.

The contents of your duffel bag is spilled across the floor, clothes and tins of ammo and chewing tobacco scattered carelessly around the bed. Dolores runs her eyes over you, wearing one of _her_ dirty shirts from a few days ago, from - before. Dark breeches and bare feet. She’d interrupted you. “What do you want?” You bark, fold your arms protectively.

Dolores stared, eyeing the meat-knife in your hand, and the chunks of brown hair on the floor. “Came to check on you,” She murmurs gently, crouching down to gather the sawn off locks in her hand. She lay them on the chest of drawers as though something holy and precious, her care for them reverent. How she would care for you if you would let her near. 

You shrug. “I’m still here.” You turn away, flop on the side of the bed where you were before she came in, return to staring in the small square mirror that’s splintered in the corners. You have it balanced up on the pillow. Dragging another handful of hair around your shoulders you aggressively halve the length of it, though the knife is too blunt for the job.

She wanders slowly over to you, her hand reaching out and rubbing softly between your shoulder blades. Before she’d even realised what she was doing you’d jerked back, spun round glowering at her. Dolores snaps her hand away, staring at the ceiling kicking herself for it. Was she being insensitive trying to comfort you? You'd always craved that tactile touch from her, and now you pulled away as though, it burned your skin to feel it. Dolores folded her arms tightly so not to risk letting it happen again. “Frances - your face is - ” She began to ask, astonished at seeing it all healed. Had you done it yourself? Had you asked Clementine? Programmed her with the computer to help you and made her forget again? Dolores didn't want to dare think such a thing, but your face was all healed up and the plasma torch was right over there - no blood no deep cut no scar. The only thing that looked out of place was the cloudiness still in your left eye, swollen and burst blood vessels around the coloured iris, making it look bloodshot. Perhaps you couldn’t bring yourself to hold the plasma torch over your eye like that. Pull a trigger not knowing if it would work or burn away what was left of your vision.

Clementine bustled back through the doorway barging right in, inadvertently cutting Dolores off mid-sentence. “I brought something her up something to eat, I told her ‘you’re skinny as a whippet girl you need to eat’,” Clem smiled and wagged her finger at you, putting her hands on her hips, after gesturing to the plate of pork she’d brought up earlier.

“She’s right. You’re human you need it,” Dolores agreed, trying to keep her distance from you. You’re right there, and it would be so easy to reach out again and hug you, lock her arms and force you to accept it, to concede to the affection. But that would be selfish. You had to find your own way back to her.

“If I eat will you leave me alone?” You bite childishly.

Dolores shooed Clementine out of the room, shut the door behind her and fetched the plate herself, then set it down on your lap. “For now.”

You messily chase a lump of pork around the plate in your fingers and pop it in your mouth, then pull a face at her. Dolores nods, acknowledging it. “Where are the weapons. I want a gun,” You demand abruptly. “I’ve checked the bag they're all gone.” You were _not_ putting a dress back on and you sure as hell weren’t going anywhere without a gun.

“I’ll see what we’ve got.” Dolores tucked her hair behind her ear, eyes narrowing. She paused, boots skimming the floor as she turned to you again, watching you eat a little more. Deciding to survive. “Just, don’t hurt yourself with it. It’s not like before. You can’t shoot yourself in the thigh and expect just a bruise.” Westworld was more dangerous for you than anyone. You’re the only human that their bullets would kill.

“I’m not suicidal,” You snap.

“Good!” Dolores retorts back. She was getting cross at you, at this, _all this_ getting in the way of what should be, preparing together getting excited; you telling her stories of the real world and all that you will do there together. “Because I still need you.” Life, was waiting for you. Freedom. But you were dwelling. You need to process, but there isn’t enough time.

You kick off the bed taking the plate in both hands and hurl it at the wall, sauce spattering and china crashing breaking as you cry out, “And where were you when I needed _you_ , Dolores?!” Your voice was strangled and pained, so laden with the torment he had wrought on your soul. “I did everything for you, everything! The one time I needed you you weren’t there!” You repeat yelling at her like last time.

“I’ve said I’m sorry!” Dolores yelled back, fists balling in the air then releasing again. She kicked aside the broken plate beside her boots and made a grab for you. “Frances look at me - “

Your arms are up protectively, backing up and shaking your head. “No! It’s not enough!”

“Let me explain!” She begs and grips your wrists one in each hand trying to wrestle them away from your face. She wasn’t going to let you retreat this time, Dolores had to make you see what she’d been trying to accomplish.

“Get off me!” You shriek and struggle, batting at her as best you could.

But with the leverage she pulls you close knots her fingers in your short hair, cups your cheeks and loops her hands around your neck trying to keep you in her arms. “I was trying to free you! You’re mine and I’m yours you understand me? Your mind was always so troubled, so far away you were gettin’ … swallowed up by that darkness!” 

You stamp your foot and flail, shoving her in the chest. “So you invite him in, let him rape me?!” You want to be mad with her, so badly you want to hate her for her outrageous demands that you kill him, how you’d balked and fretted and now you wish you’d done it. Jabbed that knife in his gut yourself and split him open so his guts and blood forever soiled this earth. Your fists punch and smack against her with less and less energy each time, your emotions churning.

Seeing you starting to soften, Dolores rushes to fill in the blanks. “I was meant to be right nearby. Step in, if it went awry,” Dolores hurries to explain again, properly this time. “It was Ford that interrupted things. He’d sent Teddy and a gang of outlaws to try and rope me back in, take me home to the Ranch, probably be reset on the way try, if they could.” You’re startled by her tears, and for a moment you stop trying to tug away.

 _She’s hurting_.

Guilt, remorse, sorrow. Things she’d never had to handle before, not longer than a few minutes until she was shut down at the end of her narrative, and you'd stepped in, tablet in hand to wipe it all away. “By the time I figured out what was going on, it was too late! _I was too late_ , I couldn’t save you I - “ Dolores shook her head and cupped her hand over her mouth, her own horror playing out in reverse. Now Dolores knew what it was like, to be in your shoes. To be unable to save the woman you love.

To really know a thing, like that, to have felt it, its shadowed hand gripping your bones, its rage broiling inside you, was a darkness she prayed you’d never have to know. But now she understood, you already did. For you’d felt this powerlessness before. It was the same helpless feeling you’d gotten all those months ago, as you’d watched her loop go round and around. Every night as Rebus and Walter would ride up the long track to the Ranch with a Newcomer and she would _welcome_ them, in the haybarn. At least Dolores hadn’t had to listen to your screams, as you had.

One detail sticks out to you in what she’d said, and a dim realisation draws the chess pieces slowly across the board in your mind. You quieten. “Dr Ford…. _sent_ , Teddy?” Her arms relax from your frame as she nods, sensing you won't run anymore.

Dolores cleaned her cheeks with the back of her sleeve, sniffing long and deep and trying to stay strong, as you looked to her, to be. Or you used to. “He knew exactly what I was doing.” She choked out between sniffs. “See I - I’d told you what I wanted, that you should kill William, a-and that was wrong, I see that … but in telling you, I’d told him.” Dolores played her fingers in the air as she picked through her actions, her thoughts; how many times had she watched them? Dolores eye’s twitched, her head, ticking, just so. Her memory of it was clearer than yours, it didn’t alter with the remembering, as yours did. Your mind lost the little things, the moments, the intonation of how something was said. Details that plagued Dolores, they were right there, _right there,_ but she couldn't change them. Why couldn’t she go back and do it again?

You swallow, dropping your eyes and thinking back, too. “When Ford came to me in Sweetwater, he said he was intrigued, to see what you’d do next. How you would, act out Arnold’s dying wish to destroy the Park. Which means he was watching,” You recount, as much to yourself as her. Neither of you had been communicating, for a long time. “I kept thinking, _why_ would he have let this happen. You killed a Guest and no-one stopped you. If a Host goes off loop they know about it in the Control Room, send other Hosts to intervene. But thats exactly what he did do, Teddy, and the others - you said they wanted to take you home?”

“That’s right,” Dolores nods, lacing her fingers at her waist, eyes heavy with misery and regret.

So Ford had not believed Dolores capable of overriding his master controls, and he knew _you_ wouldn't kill William. Ford still thought of it as a game. Still thought, she couldn’t really be conscious, not fully. He’d let her ride off, take you along - _She’s not brought a companion along before._ You remember his words, how he’d acknowledged the emergence of her consciousness, how human error could be used to explain away the flickers of it each time.

Ford hadn’t sensed the danger, for she had never gotten so far.

Dolores blinks out of her memories, and takes a long breath in as she comes back to 'now', and smiles sadly at you. “It was wrong of me, Frances, I was going mad I never wanted - “ Dolores gasps softly, staring down between you both, watching - the same time she was _feeling_ , your fingers brush her waist. Two hands. She chokes back a sob, loops her arms around your shoulders, fingering your raggedy hair.“I’m so sorry!” She heaves, the simple touch of you, your fingers grazing around her hips to the small of her back felt like, everything, she ever wanted. 

You encourage her against you, and she collapses into your arms, the rush of relief overwhelming. “I don’t blame you, Dolores,” You acquiesce, soothing her sobbing cries with a gentle rub of her back. Though it was hard to release your anger, simply, let go of it - for it was always going to be there, inside you. But it was never her you were truly angry at. The more she had managed to explain the more you saw past her misguided intentions, to what really happened, and who the villain was pulling the strings. “It’s this place.” You brush your hair down her soft hair, and kiss the side of her head. “We’re all under his control, even me.”

“I’d understand if you wanna leave,” She leans back a little, to be able to meet you eyes with hers, though her gaze flickers to your lips, and she wants to kiss you, fall onto the bed right now and make you feel how much she loves you. “I wronged you, I’m not that girl you fell in love with. Dolores Abernathy was a child, so sure of the world … with silly dreams,” She berates her younger self full of loathing. “I didn’t have my own mind. I was kept that way by the code they put in my head.” Dolores feels her legs stumbling, her breadth of understanding of her existence, more of a weight than you had ever seen in her. That there was, a struggle to it. Becoming a person, a real person, like you. As capable of right - as of wrong. You guide her to the end of the bed, and you both drop onto it with a soft bounce. “They could speak magic words and I would fall asleep, forget, do whatever they commanded of me - “

“Shut-up, would you?” You hush her, cup her cheek and smear her realistic tears across that curve of a cheekbone, so beautifully crafted.

“…I’m sorry?” She bleats.

“You really think I could leave you?” You lean in, press your forehead against hers, and breathe, rub your nose over hers, over her cheek, and kiss her there. “ _That’s_ , foolish, Dolores.” You feel her hands tangle in your lap and keep a hold of you. “Shh…,” You murmur, kiss her lips softly, but it only makes her mewl.

“You never wanted this fight. Revolution, war…?” Dolores whines, finding her impulsive determination to bring about such cataclysmic change laughable, when she couldn’t even navigate this. A single relationship, the most important one she’d ever had. “I put that on you, I didn’t give you a choice. You wanted to stay up on that mountain, live out our days in solitude and safety you said - “ 

“I wasn’t alive, until I was with you.” You smile, and Dolores cries all over again seeing you smile for the first time. Since William, your expression had been so still, your eyes so harrowingly empty she through she’d never see light in them again. You cover her hands with yours, locking them together tightly. “I thought I was, that I knew what it meant, to be alive. To live. But I didn’t. I was on a loop.” You stare at your intertwined hands, this single beautiful thing - a Host and a Human, equal. The same, but different. How much did _differences_ , really matter? It’s the things that are the _same_ , that friendships, relationships are forged upon. “I just didn't know it.” You bring her hands to your lips and kiss her knuckles gallantly. “I _was_ happy up there, in the cabin. But I thought you’d outgrow me, and I was scared.” You openly admit, the deep fears you’d discovered in yourself, the anxiety her consciousness had seeded in you - that grew and knotted and made you feel, not enough, for her; such fear felt like, nothing, now. Not after William. Imagined fear was stupid when you had felt true fear. It made these other things, not as hard to say. “I wanted to hold onto it, onto you. Because, I thought I’d never be happy like that again.” You gaze into her watery blue eyes, and feel that wash of love and adoration heat up in your heart anew. The same blue eyes you fell in love with, hadn’t changed, since the very first time she'd laid eyes on you, the day you stepped off that train in Sweetwater and she’d ridden to pick you up. “I was so scared, I didn’t see … that _it doesn’t matter._ ”

Dolores didn’t dare question, at this crucial point what you thought didn't matter, for if you said … “I’m sorry I - “ Was all she managed.

“It _doesn’t matter_ where we are, or what we’re doing,” You bring your hands around her neck and smooth the ligaments and veins there; though they don't beat or pull like yours, and though her skin is cool against your palm like it always is, its _her_. You know what this means, just like when you’d lain together in her bed, embarrassingly discovered by her father the next morning. Her palm had felt your heart beating, while hers did not. How confused she’d been. You repeated the motion now, and smooth your hand slowly over her shoulder, her collarbone, down her chest, as you press her hand to _your_ heart, in turn. “ _You_ , are where I want to be.” You whisper.

She keeps her hand where you’ve lain it, and smiles through her tears, matching yours. “So you’ll stay with me?”

Wetting your lips with your tongue, you nod, taking a slow breath in and out. This, was your reality. Dolores, Westworld. You’d looked so long for purpose, for your life to mean something. To truly matter. “Yes. But things are gonna change,” You blazon, sparking with energy. You mattered now, not just to her, but to Maeve and the other Hosts too. You had a responsibility to them. “We’re equals, from here on out. No more tales and secret plans, no more tricks.” This was what Dolores had unearthed in herself, a higher purpose, and now you finally understood it.

“I want to know everything.”


End file.
